


The Riddles of the Soul

by SilviaFogs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brief Book 2: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Brief Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Development, Death Eaters, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, False Identity, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, Horcruxes, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Minor Character Death, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), POV Hermione Granger, POV Tom Riddle, Possessed Harry Potter, Slow Burn, Teenage Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle as Harry Potter, Tom Riddle's Diary, Voldy!Harry, Young Tom Riddle, but in third person, canon compliant until fourth year, soul issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2020-12-21 08:27:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 49,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21071903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilviaFogs/pseuds/SilviaFogs
Summary: At the end of Harry Potter's second year, something extraordinary happens: when Tom Riddle comes out from the Diary, he merges with the Horcrux that is inside of Harry.A few years later, this event will bring strong repercussions. Tom Riddle's soul will finally take control of Harry's body at the end of his fourth year. This means, Tom will pretend to be Harry Potter in front of the people that know him best! But Tom's plans won't go as he expected. Nobody told Tom that the soul is a tricky thing.





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction is canon compliant until the end of Book 4. The changes made to canon before that, are presented in this chapter. The reader must assume that everything else stayed the same.
> 
> There are a few dialogues and descriptions that came from J.K Rowling and not me.
> 
> It should be obvious that Tom Riddle’s opinions and personality are not mine, and the narration takes his point of view, for the major part. 
> 
> Hermione's POV will appear in future chapters.

Harry Potter had always felt something was wrong with him.

It wasn’t only about feeling weird or out of place, because when Harry realized he was a wizard, that feeling made more sense to him. No, this was different. He couldn’t explain it, and most of the time he forgot it was there, but sometimes - when he was angry or sad - something seemed to move inside him. Something twisted and dark that lived in perpetual agony. It felt foreign, like it wasn’t a real part of him. It scared Harry, because it felt like a time bomb. A potential, waiting to be revealed. Always in the background, hidden, but sometimes coming to the surface as an umcomfortable sensation. But to his relief, until he was eleven, nothing happened.

The first time Harry felt the strange sensation becoming stronger, was at Hogwarts, when Professor Quirrell had looked at him (although at the time he blamed Snape). But he didn’t understand it, because it came with a pain in his scar that distracted him. Harry usually felt something weird at Quirrell’s classes too, like a snake twisting inside his stomach. Harry just concluded that the professor nervousness was contagious, and that was what he felt. And then, it happened. At the end of the year, in the meeting with Professor Quirrell and Voldemort, when he touched them, a triumphant voice resonated in Harry’s mind. '_I’m awake! Finally!' _But Harry didn’t really pay it any attention, because he was more concerned with the pain he was feeling and protecting the Philosopher’s Stone. He forgot about it later, the memories of those moments too blurry to remember the details.

Later came second year. Harry found Riddle’s diary. When he touched or wrote in the diary, he had an inexplicable feeling of triumph that he never understood. But he didn’t reflect its importance, because he was more worried about the Chamber of Secrets and Hagrid’s involvement with that. It was a feeling too vague to understand, anyway. And finally, it came. When Harry went to the Chamber to rescue Ginny, and found Tom Riddle waiting for him. The feeling of a snake twisting inside him was stronger than ever, but the fight for his own life didn’t give him the time to ponder it. The basilisk fang was nailed in his arm and the venom was starting to make effect. He felt drowsy. Harry Potter went to sleep. But another part inside him, woke up.

* * *

Tom Riddle came in front of the dying figure of Harry Potter with a predatory smile. Fawkes was crying in his shoulder.

“You’re dead, Harry Potter,” said. “Dead. Even Dumbledore’s bird knows it. Do you see what he’s doing, Potter? He’s crying.”

Harry Potter raised his gaze and Tom Riddle stopped smiling. The eyes of the Potter boy were red, and Riddle felt uneasiness. Something new had appeared in them that felt very familiar.

“You’re right. Harry Potter is dead for now. Or at least asleep. And I’m finally awake,” the boy said, in a tone that didn’t suit him, with a strange smile.

“What do you mean?” Riddle asked, curious and irritated.

“Can you not sense it? I’m like you, Tom. We are the same. Do you not feel it? The need to be reunited with me, to be whole again.” 

“You will have to be more precise” Riddle said, watching him carefully. 

“The night I tried to kill the Potter boy my soul, or what was left of it, divided in two. I became attached to Harry Potter and the other part of me lost its body and run away.”

“I see what you are insinuating. But I don’t believe you, this could be just a trick. You will have to prove it,” the Heir of Slytherin noted coldly.

Harry Potter laughed in a very unbecoming way for him. 

“Indeed. I would be disappointed otherwise. Well, I’m an Horcrux, Tom. Just like you.”

The Chamber became silent for a while. Tom Riddle stood completely frozen.

The Horcrux continued talking:

“Do you need more evidence? I know you are the first one created, with the death of that Mudblood. That the plan was to make seven. And that it didn’t work in the way we planned it. I stopped at five Horcruxes, because I couldn’t find the sword of Gryffindor. Well, now we know where it was.” He pointed the sword firmly fixed in the basilisk’s mouth. “And I’m the Sixth Horcrux, but I was accidentally made. I’m a small part of Voldemort’s soul. Harry Potter’s soul is whole, and it keeps me asleep. I can’t decide when to wake up. This is the second time it happens. The first time was when I met our Source, but I only stayed awake briefly.”

Tom Riddle stayed silent for a while, considering the words of his other self. 

“Let’s say I believe you. It doesn’t change anything, Potter’s body is dying, so you should too.”

The Horcrux laughed again.

“Potter’s not dying. Look at the wound.”

Tom looked surprised at the wound for the first time since their conversation. Steam came from the wounds as they closed. The phoenix’s tears had healed it. Fawkes went away and out of the chamber.

“That was a mistake. You should never underestimate Dumbledore and his toys,” the Horcrux remarked with a more serious expression. Then he started frowning, as he touched his forehead. “The tears of that bloody bird are waking Potter up. We don’t have much time. I have a proposition”

“What is it?” Riddle asked, his face a careful mask.

“We should merge, be together again.”

Tom Riddle’s expression hardened.

“We are safer apart.”

“I know why you believe that, after all, I used to believe that too. But you are not safe. Later in my life, I realized I made a mistake. The diary could be easily destroyed, you didn’t stay hidden, because you had a mission: to open again the Chamber. That exposes you, makes you vulnerable. I’m not safe either. I cannot control Harry Potter’s soul with so little of me. We both could have died today. I, by your hand. You, by the boy. Imagine if instead of me, he woke up. That basilisk fang is there. He could have easily taken it and rip the diary with it. Those mistakes are unacceptable coming from us.”

Tom Riddle said nothing, his face calculating.

“But if we want to merge, we have a problem. The only way to do that would be to feel remorse. We are not capable of that.”

“You’re thinking of feeling remorse for that Mudblood or Potter. But there are other kinds of remorse. Don’t you regret making the diary if you think how reckless that creation was? Thinking about how our Master Soul is less than a ghost right now? The danger we are in? Our soul is precious. In at least both of our cases, they are Horcruxes I regret and that I’m sure that our Source regrets too. You were created when Lord Voldemort was too young and didn’t consider carefully his actions. He gave the diary to the Malfoy’s, so they would keep it safe. And instead the son of Abraxas used it for his own benefit. We know we shouldn’t trust anybody else. As for me, I was accidental, I wasn’t meant to exist, so it’s obvious that I regret my own creation.”

“You seem awfully sure about this. But nothing guaranties that it will work. The pain could kill us!” Tom Riddle retorted.

“Unlikely, really. But we don’t have a choice. If we stay in this situation, we will die, sooner rather than later.”

Riddle became stiff

“But what will become of us?”

“If we are successful, we will be one again, inside the Potter boy. We will control him, keeping him asleep or at least possess him sometimes.”

Tom Riddle stayed speechless for a while, pondering his options, but knowing the Horcrux was right. It was the smartest option. Finally, Riddle nodded to the boy with red eyes with an implicit agreement. The Horcrux extended both hands to him and Riddle took them. They both looked each other in the eye and started to recite the words that would bring them together. _Paenitentiam reverti. _ They focused on their remorse and the desire to be one. They repeated the words, over and over. Harry Potter and the diary started to glow a red light, that slowly became brighter. Tom Riddle and the Horcrux screamed, the pain increasing every moment. It wasn’t a pain either of them had ever felt. It wasn’t physical, but it came from inside their souls. The screams became stronger, a high pitch that was not human anymore, and that would have left any witnesse's blood cold. Tom Riddle became a bright red snake that seemed made of smoke and came from the diary. The smoke started to enter Harry’s nostrils and mouth in a violent manner, while he convulsed. The agony seemed to last forever. The remorse burned inside both Horcruxes like hot lava _ . _Horrible thoughts formed in their minds.

_ Why did I kill that girl? It was a waste. Magical blood spilled for nothing. _

_ Why did I try to kill Harry Potter? Only for that prophecy, only for fear. How unworthy of me. It was a mistake… it was a mistake. Look what it did to me, look what it did to me. _

_ Why did I do this to myself? My precious soul…. My beautiful and precious soul… Broken. Broken. _

The words were like a mantra inside them, that caused more and more pain. The diary became empty. The boy dropped on the floor, shaking. His eyes were a deep red. Before he passed out and idea came to him, and he nailed the basilisk fang into the empty diary. 

The Chamber became silent. Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley were unconscious on the floor for long minutes. At the same time, they both started to wake up. Harry Potter opened his eyes. They were green, like his mother’s. 

Shaking all over, Harry pulled himself up. His head was spinning as though he’d just traveled miles by Floo powder. He felt really confused. What had happened? The diary was in his hand, with the fang nailed on it. When did that happened? Then came a faint moan from the end of the Chamber. Ginny was stirring. As Harry hurried toward her, she sat up. Her bemused eyes traveled from the huge form of the dead basilisk, over Harry, in his blood-soaked robes, then to the diary in his hand. She drew a great, shuddering gasp and tears began to pour down her face.

“Harry — oh, Harry — I tried to tell you at b-breakfast, but I c-couldn’t say it in front of Percy — it was me, Harry — but I — I s-swear I d-didn’t mean to — R-Riddle made me, he t-took me over — and — how did you kill that — that thing? W-where’s Riddle? The last thing I r-remember is him coming out of the diary —”

“It’s all right. I killed the basilisk. And Riddle…” Harry stopped, looking at the diary with the fang in it, frowning. “I think… he’s gone…. I don’t remember what happened exactly, but it looks like the diary is destroyed. We can ask Dumbledore to confirm it…”

At mention of the Headmaster’s name, Ginny started crying about getting expelled.

* * *

Harry didn’t notice anything had changed. He only had that sensation of having something, maybe a snake, inside him manifest when he was upset, and in third year every time the Dementors came near him. But Harry Potter didn’t question it, maybe that was what feeling depressed felt like. He wasn’t good at sorting his own feelings. 

Tom Riddle’s soul was mostly asleep.

* * *

In fourth year, at the end of the Triwizard Tournament, the Dark Lord returned. When Harry and Voldemort faced each other, the snake inside of Harry was twisting eager to wake up and reunite with his Source. The Imperius curse made both minds brushed each other. Before Harry disappeared with the Portkey, just for a second, Tom Riddle Horcrux woke up and looked directly to his other self, Voldemort. The Dark Lord still fired his Killing Curse, that never reached its target, screaming with fury.

In the confusion that came with coming back to Hogwarts, holding Cedric’s body, later being almost killed by Barty Crouch Jr, and finally, having to explain everything to Dumbledore, Harry had ignored the snake that was fighting to wake up inside him. But when he had almost concluded his story, and recounting how the figures of his parents had emerged from the connection of the wands, a kind of nausea he had never felt before, overcame him. It was a discomfort that was more than physical but seem to affect his entire being. He suddenly felt very ill, in a way he could not explain.

“Harry, are you okay?” Sirius asked with an alarmed expression, holding him by the shoulder. 

Harry tried to respond but found he couldn’t do it. Dumbledore looked alarmed as well and came by his side. 

Everything was confusing after that. Harry went in and out of consciousness. He heard Sirius shouting to Dumbledore something about pushing his godson too far. He didn’t hear the reply the Headmaster gave, but instead a voice in his head: _ 'Go to sleep, Harry. Go to sleep' _

“No..” Harry mumbled disoriented.

He had to stay awake, for some reason he felt the fight wasn’t over. '_The fight will never be over, not now that Lord Voldemort back. It’s better if you sleep.' _

Harry felt he was being transported in the air softly. He opened his eyelids and saw that he was floating above the ground, that a black dog was running alongside him and Dumbledore’s back with his wand pointed at him; he was carrying him with a spell. He closed his eyes again. His scar ached. '_It will only get more difficult. More pain. Go to rest and it will end. You deserve to rest.' _Yes, maybe resting would be good, he felt so bad... But, no, no, something was wrong. 

“¡Harry! ¡Oh, Harry!”

“Is he okay?”

“What happened to him?!”

Those were the shouting’s Harry heard, and belonged to familiar voices, but he couldn’t distinguish to who each of them belonged. They made his head hurt more. 

“This is an infirmary, everybody quiet! He needs rest!” An authoritarian female voice shouted.

Harry felt he was dropped softly in something soft, maybe a bed... _'Time to sleep now. You are safe now. It will be alright.' _Harry wanted to do as the voice said, he was so tired... But no, if he did, something bad would happen, he just knew. Harry made a titanic effort and fought to stay awake. He could do this...

He didn’t know how long he was fighting against it, but it felt like hours. Then he heard familiar whispers around him.

“They’ll wake him if they don’t shut up!

“What are they shouting about? Nothing else can have happened, can it?”

_'Go to sleep, Harry Potter! REST!' _Harry opened his eye, blearily. Someone had removed his glasses. He felt dizzy and confused. He could see the fuzzy outlines of Mrs. Weasley and Ron close by. Mrs. Weasley was on her feet.

“That’s Fudge’s voice,” she whispered. “And that’s Minerva McGonagall’s, isn’t it? But what are they arguing about?” 

Now Harry could hear them too; people shouting and running towards the hospital wing. He closed his eyes again, his headache increasing. 'I_f you sleep, it will end, you will hear no more, you will be at peace.' _That sounded appealing... More shouting that Harry didn’t understand, consumed in pain. His scar felt like it was burning. And then Harry heard the hospital doors burst open.

“Where’s Dumbledore?” Cornelius Fudge voice demanded loudly.

“He’s not here!” Mrs. Weasley said angrily. And she continued talking, but Harry’s pain didn’t ley him hear anything else. The voice talked again: '_It will be over soon. I promise.' _

“What has happened?” Harry heard Dumbledore said, in a sharp tone. Apparently the Headmaster arrived without him noticing. “Why are you disturbing these people? Minerva, I’m surprised at you — I asked you to stand guard over Barty Crouch —” 

Harry felt himself drifting in and out of consciousness. He couldn’t resist for too long. _ 'There’s no need to fight anymore. Sleep and it will be okay.' _Harry could not move anymore; he couldn’t open his eyes. Harry clung to the words that were being said around him, the only thing keeping him conscious and from losing all awareness. 

“... but he cannot now give testimony, Cornelius,” Dumbledore said. “He cannot give evidence about why he killed those people.” 

“Why he killed them? Well, that’s no mystery, is it?” Fudge blustered. “He was a raving lunatic! From what Minerva and Severus told me, he seemed to believe he was doing it all on You-Know-Who’s instructions!”

Something about the way Fudge talked made Harry felt even worst.

“Lord Voldemort was giving him instructions, Cornelius,” Dumbledore said calmly. “Those people’s deaths were mere by-products of a plan to restore Voldemort to full strength again. The plan succeeded. Voldemort has been restored to his body.”

Yes, Harry thought. Dumbledore would fix it, like he always did...

Fudge began to sputter.

“You-Know-Who... returned? Preposterous. Come now, Dumbledore...”

Harry felt a dreadful feeling inside him, the snake inside him spreading inside him slowly. This was not possible...

“See here, Dumbledore,” Fudge said, “you - you can’t seriously believe that. You-Know-Who — back? Come now, come now... certainly, Crouch may have believed himself to be acting upon You-Know-Who’s orders — but to take the word of a lunatic like that, Dumbledore...” 

Harry knew that Dumbledore was answering, but he couldn’t hear his responses anymore. All he was aware now were the poisonous words that came from Fudge, every one of them contaminating him alongside the voice in his head. Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing. '_Listen to that, listen to that. He doesn’t believe it. Cedric died and he doesn’t believe it. You almost died and he doesn’t believe it._'

“You are — er — prepared to take Harry’s word on this, are you, Dumbledore?” Harry heard the skepticism in the Minister’s voice. “You are prepared to believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, on the word of a lunatic murderer, and a boy who... well...”

Harry felt desperate, if he could scream or move, he would. But his eyes were closed and his body didn’t respond anymore. Why didn’t Fudge believe him? _ 'Rita Skeeter’s articles.' _Answered the voice. _ 'You are disturbed, a lunatic, your scar hurts, you hallucinate, you crave for attention...' _ But it's not true, I’m not crazy, I’m not, Harry thought, desesperate. '_It doesn’t matter, the minister would never believe you. It was all for nothing. You fought Voldemort for nothing.' _No, no.

“You admit that he has been having these pains, then?” Fudge said, supporting what the voice was saying. “Headaches? Nightmares? Possibly — hallucinations? For heaven’s sake, Dumbledore — the boy was full of some crackpot story at the end of last year too — his tales are getting taller, and you’re still swallowing them — the boy can talk to snakes, Dumbledore, and you still think he’s trustworthy?”

Harry stopped hearing. Fudge voice drifted away. He had heard enough. All sounds around him disappeared. The voice inside him came clear and loud to him. '_See what I told you? The Minister of Magic doesn’t believe you. If he doesn’t, nobody else will. You faced Voldemort, your blood made him come back. In a way, you are responsible for this, and now you cannot even warn anyone against it. To fight is useless. You can’t save anyone. Better to accept it now. You are not good for others. Cedric died because of you. You couldn’t even defend him.' _Harry felt the truth of those words sinking painfully inside him. '_People die because of you, Harry Potter. Your mother did._ _Your father did. Cedric did. Other people will too. Everyone you care about. Better to stop it now. Stay away before you can do more damage. Go to sleep and protect the ones you love.' _Harry felt himself slowly accepting those painful words, drifting away. '_You already brought Cedric’s body to Hogwarts, to his parents. You did what you could. You held your promise. You told Dumbledore of the returning of Lord Voldemort. You did your part. Now you deserve to rest.' _Harry accepted it. He didn’t know why he had struggled before. Heavy, irresistible waves of dreamless sleep broke over him and he thought no more. His soul went to sleep.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is not my first language, so if you notice any misspellings or mistakes, please let me know.


	2. A wolf in sheep’s clothing

Tom Riddle’s soul finally woke up. His first thought was that it was nice to have a body again. Even if it hurt. Harry Potter’s body was injured, after all, although not badly. And very tired, after the all efforts he made. Tom inhaled a deep breath, enjoying the feeling of it. He had missed breathing. His soul had been inside a diary for fifty years, he had missed having a corporeal existence. Even when he came from the diary, thanks to Ginny Weasley, it wasn’t the same. It hadn’t been a real – breathing - body, just a shadow of his former self. And when he possessed her, it hadn’t felt like this either. The feeling of actually owning a body completely.

Tom opened his eyes and his vision wasn’t good. Right, Harry Potter wore glasses. He stirred and searched for them. The glasses were in the nightstand, next to a gold bag of money; probably Potter’s price from the Tournament. He put them on and watched his surroundings. He was in the infirmary of Hogwarts, and thankfully, he was alone. Next, he searched for Potter’s wand. Luckily, the wand was very similar to his, so it felt almost familiar in his hand. They shared the same phoenix core, after all.

Next, he conjured a small mirror with a move of his new wand. He wanted to see his new body. Harry Potter’s reflection looked right at him. He had perpetually untidy black hair and a lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead. But his eyes were wrong. They were a deep scarlet red. Tom cursed under his breath and he felt relieved to be alone. This could have gone very wrong if anyone had been with him. He pointed the wand at himself and altered his appearance, making his eyes a bright green. 

Soothed, he rested a few moments, allowing himself some time to think. So, two years ago, something had gone wrong when the two Horcruxes merged. First, Harry Potter’s soul had prevailed over the Horcruxes and stayed awake. Why was that? Tom was not sure. He had fought for two years, trying to wake up, but he couldn’t achieve it until now. He would have to consider it later. And secondly, for some reason, the merge of the Horcruxes was not complete. He was still the Tom Riddle that came from the diary. The other Horcrux, the first one inside of Harry, was now only partially connected to him. He could reach the memories of this older part of his soul, he discovered, but he felt disconnected of them, as if they had happened to somebody else. He couldn’t explain it either. At least, having connected that part of his soul – even in a defectively way - made him feel better. Like he hadn’t been aware that something was missing, but now that he had it back, he couldn’t believe he had been able to exist without it. It was a disturbing sensation. It made him wonder... Was a mistake making so many Horcruxes? 

He pondered this for a while, but then decided that there were other matters more urgent now. Why did he wake up now and no sooner? Something had happened when his soul had been near his Source’s and that was probably why he woke up, pondered Tom. Or maybe because his soul had a body now. Or maybe both. But he also had to dominate Potter’s soul, taking advantage of his pain and weakness. Harry Potter had dealt with Voldemort’s return, Diggory’s death, seeing shadows of his deceased parents, the assassination attempt of Barty Crouch and finally the speech of Cornelius Fudge. Tom Riddle had taken advantage of these. Potter’s soul was in terrible pain, so even if it was hard, Tom had been capable of persuading him to avoid his troubles and go adrift. But... was Potter’s soul asleep for good or could he wake up? Tom didn’t know. This was the more urgent matter he had to deal with. To discover if Harry Potter could come back and if he could, find a way to stop it. 

He had just decided that, when he was interrupted. Madam Pomfrey came in and saw him staring at the ceiling.

“Thank Merlin you’re awake! How are you feeling, Mr. Potter?” 

“Good, thank you,” answered Tom politely. “How long was I asleep?”

“Only for a few hours, I’m afraid. I would have like to give you some Dreamless Potion, but the Headmaster insisted not to until I could figure out what was happening. He seemed extremely worried when he brought you, I have never seen him so preoccupied,” the nurse explained.

“And did you? Figure what happened to me?” asked Tom. 

Madam Pomfrey sighed.

“My best guess was that you passed out of exhaustion, after...” She bit her lip. "Emotional distress. I couldn’t find any curses on you that would cause you to dismay.”

“I see.”

Then her voice turned sharper. “But that doesn’t mean you are discharged, Mr. Potter. You will stay in observation until I release you.”

Tom nodded, knowing that Madam Pomfrey could be strict and that she was expecting trouble from Potter. But how did he know that if he had never met her? Tom smiled wickedly. He had access to Potter’s memories. That was a pleasant surprise and would make things easier. He had to pretend to be Harry Potter, after all.

“Would you like company, Mr. Potter? The headmaster instructed that your friends and that... dog... could stay if you wanted to,” Madam Pomfrey said, in a way that made clear that she didn’t think it was a proper option. “But I would recommend that you rest on your own first.”

“I think I would rather rest alone,” said Tom immediately. He didn’t want to deal with Potter’s friends before it was necessary. 

The nurse smiled, pleased. “Very good then. I will give you some Body Strengthening Potion and you can rest.”

“I thought you found nothing wrong with me,” Tom observed.

“I did not say that. Your body is still weak.”

Tom thought as he drank the potion that the nurse gave him. Was Potter’s body weak because it had two souls in it? Most bodies couldn’t handle that. On the other part, Harry Potter was a Horcrux, so maybe that wasn’t a problem. But as far as Tom knew nobody had made a human Horcrux before, so he couldn’t know for sure. He decided he would steal more potion once they released him of the infirmary, just to be cautious. As long as the body was his, he would keep it strong.

* * *

Tom Riddle had to endure some obnoxious visits. He tried to avoid it for how long he was able, but eventually even Madam Pomfrey said he would benefit from seeing his friends. Tom worried not only for the unpleasantness of it but thinking that maybe some of them would notice something was different about Harry Potter. However, his fears were unfounded. If anyone thought something was wrong with him, they attributed it to the hardships he had been through. So, he had to endure Mrs. Weasley and the groundskeeper crying on him, the Weasley twins’ tasteless jokes and everyone worried looks. But to his relief, they didn’t ask many questions, apparently on Dumbledore’s instructions. Tom talked little; Harry Potter was supposed to be grieving or in shock, anyway. The visit he was more careful about was Mr. and Mrs. Diggory’s. Harry Potter obviously would care about that. Tom used his usual act. He used his charm, said all the right words, gave his condolences and praised Diggory’s supposed bravery. He could tell by Mrs. Diggory tearing smile and Amos Diggory handshake at the end that he had done a good job.

The next day, Harry Potter’s best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger visited. They had before but know they were alone. Tom Riddle appraised them with a calculating look. They seemed worried about him. The Weasley boy was tall, thin and gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet, and a long nose. His hair was bright red, a trademark of his pureblood family. A family of blood traitors, Tom remembered. He found the boy incredibly stupid. Weasley was trying to make small talk to avoid awkwardness but failing miserably. Why did Harry Potter relate with him? He wasn’t even a loyal follower, as Tom could grasp memories of Potter that showed Weasley betraying him at beginning of the year. And Potter _forgave_ him. _Gryffindor’s,_ thought Tom dismissively. But Weasley’s envy of his best friend was something to consider, maybe it could prove useful in the future. Then he shifted his attention to the girl, Hermione Granger. She had pale skin, bushy brown hair and big brown eyes. She was a mudblood, not a single spill of magical on blood on her veins. But a brilliant witch and perceptive, by the memories Potter had of her. That intrigued him. Maybe she was the exception that confirmed the rule. During Tom’s time at Hogwarts he had never met a muggleborn more capable than a pureblood. At least he could understand the benefit Potter got from that partnership. She stayed mostly silent in that meeting but conveying worry through her big expressive eyes. She wore her emotions on her sleeve, something Tom bore in mind. 

He tuned out most of the meeting, what it picked his attention was when they both told him that Dumbledore had spoken to the school that morning at breakfast. The headmaster had merely requested that they left Potter alone, that nobody asked him questions or bother him and inquired about what had happened in the end of the Tournament. Tom couldn’t help but feel boiling anger when he heard this. Dumbledore had never treated him like that, always suspecting him, despite his grades and exemplary behaviour. But for the Potter boy, he seemed to show his favoritism without shame.

That’s why the visit that Tom was dreading the most was Dumbledore’s, but to his surprise he didn’t show up. When Tom was released from the infirmary after two days, Dumbledore didn’t call him to his office either. 

* * *

There were only a few days before the Leaving Feast when Tom was released from the infirmary. Most people, he noticed, were skirting him in the corridors, avoiding his eyes. Apparently, Dumbledore’s request was being taken seriously. Some whispered behind their hands as he passed. He guessed that many of them were wondering about what had happened at the end of the Triwizard Tournament, but nobody dared ask him. Tom didn’t really care, that was Potter’s problem, not his. 

Tom entered Gryffindor’s Tower for the first time, observing everything with curiosity, being one of the few parts of the castle he hadn’t been. It was very different from the Slytherin Dungeons he was accustomed. The Common Room was round, full of squashy armchairs and a large fireplace dominated one wall, that was apparently always burning. It was not surprising that everything was decorated with different shades of reds. The room Harry Potter lived in had five poster beds. He searched in Potter’s memories and knew that his new roommates were Ron Weasley, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan and Neville Longbottom. Thomas was a mudblood, while Finnigan and Neville were purebloods. Thomas and Finnigan were friends, while Longbottom didn’t seem to have any close ones. 

Tom used the remaining time at Hogwarts spending it at the library. He knew that wasn’t Potter’s usual behavior, but he had to take the risk; he needed more information to know if Potter’s soul would wake up any time soon. Tom expected Potter’s hardships would make people believe that he was just trying to distract himself at the library and nothing more. Tom felt at home at the library of Hogwarts, it was one of his favorite places. He liked the smell of the books, the silence and the endless catalogue of knowledge it had. He read every title about souls that called his attention. It had nothing useful to him, mostly philosophical questions about the nature of the soul, but he needed a more practical approach to the subject. He was worried he wouldn’t found it, as nobody had stretched magic’s limits like him before. He didn’t find a useful book until he went to the Restricted Section under a Disillusionment Charm, that was strong enough to make him invisible. In his time, Tom knew that part of the library better than the palm of his own hand, because even if it was impossible to read all the numerous books, he knew all the titles and had read a lot of them. In the fifty years that had passed, a lot of new additions had been added. He watched greedily all the new books that weren’t there when he attended school. He wanted to read them all. But he focused on his task, and only looked at the titles that seem promising. He had picked lots of books, that were floating behind him when he found it. It was called _ The Soul and its relationship with Magic. _The title intrigued him enough, as the fact that it didn’t said the name of the author. It was written long after he was out of Hogwarts, published in 1980. What called his attention most was that the book was heavily guarded, to prevent a thief, probably. Smiling, he retrieve the book, breaking the guards easily.

Before he left Hogwarts to the horrible Muggle house Potter lived in, Tom knew he needed a few things. Besides the library books, he stole lots of Body Strengthening Potion, just to be cautious with his new body.

* * *

The end of the year came quickly. He entered the Great Hall for the Leaving Feast, followed by stares and whispers. He sat next to Weasley and Granger, that had saved him a seat. There were black drapes on the wall behind the teachers’ table, as a mark of respect to Cedric Diggory. Tom felt a pair of eyes on him. Severus Snape, the potions teacher, was looking at him. His expression was difficult to read. Tom watched him back and Snape stopped, continuing a conversation he was having with McGonagall, the Transfiguration teacher. Tom continued to watch him, long after Snape had looked away. The memories he had of Severus Snape, that came from that part weakly connected to him, showed Snape as a loyal Death Eater. Snape was the one who told the prophecy to his older self and made him try to kill Harry Potter. Then he had asked for Lily Potter’s life to be spared, which Voldemort hadn’t. But in Harry Potter memories, he seemed to show nothing but contempt for the boy, apparently motivated by the hate he had for his father. Which side was Snape now? Dumbledore seemed to give him confidence, which meant something. He either had changed sides or had pretended to, in order to survive. He hadn’t return when his Master Soul called his followers, so maybe he had indeed changed sides. Tom decided to study him more in the future to determine his loyalties. There were a lot of unanswered questions regarding Severus Snape.

Dumbledore stood up to at the staff table to make a speech. The Great Hall became silent instantly.

“The end,” said Dumbledore, looking around at them all, “of another year.” He paused, and his eyes fell upon the Hufflepuff table. “There is much that I would like to say to you all tonight, but I must first acknowledge the loss of a very fine person, who should be sitting here,” he gestured toward the Hufflepuffs, “enjoying our feast with us. I would like you all, please, to stand, and raise your glasses, to Cedric Diggory.” They did it, all of them; the benches scraped as everyone in the Hall stood, and raised their goblets, and echoed, in one loud, low, rumbling voice, “Cedric Diggory.”

“Cedric was a person who exemplified many of the qualities that distinguish Hufflepuff house,” Dumbledore continued. “He was a good and loyal friend, a hard worker, he valued fair play. His death has affected you all, whether you knew him well or not. I think that you have the right, therefore, to know exactly how it came about.” Tom knew exactly what the headmaster was going to say before he said it. “Cedric Diggory was murdered by Lord Voldemort.” Tom hated that Dumbledore felt so comfortable saying his name. A panicked whisper swept the Great Hall. People were staring at Dumbledore in disbelief, in horror. He looked perfectly calm as he watched them mutter themselves into silence. 

“The Ministry of Magic,” Dumbledore continued, “does not wish me to tell you this. It is possible that some of your parents will be horrified that I have done so — either because they will not believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, or because they think I should not tell you so, young as you are. It is my belief, however, that the truth is generally preferable to lies, and that any attempt to pretend that Cedric died as the result of an accident, or some sort of blunder of his own, is an insult to his memory.”

“There is somebody else who must be mentioned in connection with Cedric’s death,” Dumbledore went on. “I am talking, of course, about Harry Potter.” A kind of ripple crossed the Great Hall as a few heads turned in Tom’s direction before flicking back to face Dumbledore. “Harry Potter managed to escape Lord Voldemort,” said Dumbledore. “He risked his own life to return Cedric’s body to Hogwarts. He showed, in every respect, the sort of bravery that few wizards have ever shown in facing Lord Voldemort, and for this, I honor him.” Dumbledore turned gravely to Tom and raised his goblet once more. It felt extremely weird to hear Dumbledore complimenting him, even if he knew the complement wasn’t actually directed at him. Tom looked directly in Dumbledore’s blue gaze, that always made him feel examined and judged. He felt a burning hatred inside him. Tom masked it nodding at him, like he was acknowledging the praising of the old wizard. Nearly everyone in the Great Hall followed suit of their headmaster. They murmured “ Harry Potter” and drank to him. Tom had to contain an amused smirk. He felt a sick amusement, knowing that they didn’t have any idea that among them was Lord Voldemort himself and they were raising their glasses at the very man they feared. 


	3. Leaving Hogwarts

It was a beautiful summer day. Tom was waiting at the entrance hall with Weasley, Granger and with the rest of the fourth years for the carriages that would take them back to Hogsmeade station. Tom saw Fleur Delacour approaching him and quickly did a nonverbal spell that prevented Veela influence. He hated not being in control of his reactions, even if he knew he could resist the effects better than most.

“We will see each uzzer again, I ’ope,” said Fleur as she reached him, holding out her hand. “I am ’oping to get a job ’ere, to improve my Eenglish.” 

“It’s very good already,” said Weasley in a strangled sort of voice before Tom could say anything. Fleur smiled at him; Granger scowled. That called Tom’s attention. Apparently, Granger was interested in Weasley, something that to Tom didn’t make the slightest sense. How could she like someone so vulnerable to Veela influence? That showed Weasley had a weak mind. He shrugged and decided it wasn’t his problem.

“Hope we can see each other again too,” said Tom politely, giving Delacour his trademark charming smile, while stretching her hand. “It’s been a pleasure meeting such a capable competitor.”

The girl gave him a wider smile.

“I ’ave to go. It ’az been a pleasure meeting you too.” Then she kissed him in the cheek. “Good-bye, ’Arry!” And she left to meet with Madame Maxine and her classmates. 

Granger and Weasley were both looking surprised at Tom now. 

“What was that?” Weasley asked irritated, with obvious jealousy on his voice. 

“I was just saying goodbye,” Tom explained calmly, the way one would speak to a toddler. 

Before Weasley could talk again, they were interrupted again. Viktor Krum had come to say goodbye to Granger.

“Could I have a vord?” he asked her.

“Oh... yes... all right,” said Granger, looking slightly flustered, and following Krum through the crowd and out of sight. 

“You’d better hurry up!” Ron called loudly after her. “The carriages’ll be here in a minute!” 

Weasley spent the next few minutes craning his neck over the crowd to try and see what they might be up to. It was obvious he liked Granger too, as Harry Potter’s memories confirmed it. Which was something to consider, if both of Potter’s friends had feelings for each other, who knew when that might be of use. Tom made it to his mental list. He also stayed thoughtful at the exchange between Krum and the girl. Why was an international Quidditch player interested in a girl like her? She wasn’t ugly, but not a great beauty either. Choosing a pretty girl instead of a bookworm made more sense for someone like him. But who knew, maybe it was the fact that she was friends with his competitor, Harry Potter, what sparked his interest. Also, Krum came from Durmstrang, he was none other than their champion, but he didn’t seem bothered by the fact that she was a muggleborn. That showed quite a change in politics, as in Tom’s time that would have been unthinkable. Blood supremacy had been strong at Durmstrang.

They returned quite soon. Weasley stared at Granger, but her face was quite impassive.

“I liked Diggory,” said Krum abruptly to Tom. “He vos alvays polite to me. Alvays. Even though I vos from Durmstrang - with Karkaroff,” he added, scowling.

Karkaroff. _ A traitor_, remembered Tom. 

“Indeed, he was always polite to everyone.” Granger and Weasley looked surprised again at him when he said those words. _ What? Didn’t Potter had any manners? _ Tom though irritated. “You would have a new headmaster now, I presume. Do you know where Karkaroff could be now?”

Krum shrugged. Of course the boy didn't know, but Tom couldn't help but ask. He held out his hand as Delacour had done, shook Tom’s hand, and then Weasley’s. 

The red-head looked as though he was suffering some sort of painful internal struggle. Krum had already started walking away when Weasley burst out, “Can I have your autograph?” Granger turned away, smiling at the carriages that were now trundling toward them up the drive, as Krum, looking surprised but gratified, signed a fragment of parchment for him. Tom thought that he didn’t understand Potter’s friends at all. 

* * *

At the train, Tom, Weasley and Granger had managed to get a compartment to themselves. For long minutes there was an uncomfortable silence and Tom noticed they were giving him anxious looks. Maybe it was because he hadn’t spent any time with them the last few days, and he knew that wasn’t common for Potter. 

“You know, Harry,” spoke Granger softly, looking at him intensely with her big brown eyes. “We know you had been through a lot. We just want to tell you that we understand and that you can talk to us whenever you are ready.”

Weasley nodded as if supporting Granger words. They had probably prepared that speech. Tom thanked the opportunity that was given to him.

“Of course. Thank you, Hermione.” Her name sounded foreign in his tongue, as he wasn’t used to called her that in his head. “I apologize if I haven’t been around lately. I just needed some time for myself.”

“Don’t worry about it, mate,” said Weasley, giving him a pat in the shoulder. “We understand.”

That seem to defuse the tension, as they started talking of other things. Riddle was curious to know what they thought Dumbledore was going to do and what the Ministry might do if he kept talking of Voldemort’s return. But to his disappointment they didn’t know much, they didn’t even know what the Order of the Phoenix was, and he had to keep that to himself, as he realized – thanks to Potter’s memories – that he wasn’t supposed to know either! Why hadn’t Dumbledore or anyone told Potter about it?

They stopped talking when the lunch trolley arrived. When Granger returned from the trolley and put her money back into her schoolbag, she dislodged a copy of the Daily Prophet that she had been carrying in there.

“Anything interesting?” Tom asked.

“There’s nothing in there. You can look for yourself, but there’s nothing at all. I’ve been checking every day. Just a small piece the day after the third task saying you won the tournament. They didn’t even mention Cedric. Nothing about any of it. If you ask me, Fudge is forcing them to keep quiet.” 

Tom felt a sick satisfaction. He remembered the conversation between the minister and Dumbledore that made possible Potter’s soul defeat. The fools of the Ministry were not only denying his return, but keeping quiet anything that could raise suspicion, such as Diggory’s death. How convenient. His Source probably was going to have an easy time hiding his activities. He accepted the paper that Granger handed him in order to check for himself that girl was right. 

While he was absently reading, Weasley asked: “But how will they keep people like Skeeter quiet?”

“Oh, Rita hasn’t written anything at all since the third task,” said Granger in an oddly constrained voice. “As a matter of fact,” she added, her voice now trembling slightly, “Rita Skeeter isn’t going to be writing anything at all for a while. Not unless she wants me to spill the beans on her.” 

“What are you talking about?” said Weasley. Tom stopped looking at the paper, paying attention too. 

“I found out how she was listening in on private conversations when she wasn’t supposed to be coming onto the grounds,” the witch said in a rush. 

“How did you find out?” asked Weasley, staring at her. 

“Well, it was you, really, who gave me the idea, Harry,” she said. 

“Really?” Tom said, arching an eyebrow.

“Yes. You suggested bugging,” said Hermione happily. “You see... Rita Skeeter” — Hermione’s voice trembled with quiet triumph — “is an unregistered Animagus. She can turn —” Hermione pulled a small sealed glass jar out of her bag. “— into a beetle.”

Tom felt an odd respect for the witch. His lips twitch with amusement. He wasn’t used to being surprised.

“You’re kidding,” said Weasley. “You haven’t... she’s not...” 

“Oh yes, she is,” said the girl happily, brandishing the jar at them. Inside were a few twigs and leaves and one large, fat beetle. 

“That’s never — you’re kidding —” The red-head whispered, lifting the jar to his eyes. 

“No, I’m not,” said Hermione, beaming. “I caught her on the windowsill in the hospital wing. Look very closely, and you’ll notice the markings around her antennae are exactly like those foul glasses she wears.”

Weasley and Tom observed. She was right.

“There was a beetle on the statue the night we heard Hagrid talking about his mum!” said Weasley, excited. 

“Exactly!” said Hermione. “And Viktor pulled a beetle out of my hair after we’d had our conversation by the lake. And unless I’m very much mistaken, Rita was perched on the windowsill of the Divination class the day your scar hurt. She’s been buzzing around for stories all year.” 

“When we saw Malfoy under that tree...” said Weasley slowly. 

“He was talking to her, in his hand,” said Granger. “He knew, of course. That’s how she’s been getting all those nice little interviews with the Slytherins. They wouldn’t care that she was doing something illegal, as long as they were giving her horrible stuff about us and Hagrid.” The witch took the glass jar back from Weasley and smiled at the beetle, which buzzed angrily against the glass. “I’ve told her I’ll let her out when we get back to London,” said Granger. “I’ve put an Unbreakable Charm on the jar, you see, so she can’t transform. And I’ve told her she’s to keep her quill to herself for a whole year. See if she can’t break the habit of writing horrible lies about people.” Smiling serenely, the girl placed the beetle back inside her schoolbag.

Tom looked calculatingly at Granger. She had thought of everything, included using an Unbreakable Charm on the jar. She really was smart. And he would never had guessed that the girl had in it her to be ruthless. She had the reporter trapped in that jar for at least a week, maybe longer and she didn’t seem bothered by it. Tom thought, because of Potter’s memories, that she was a fanatic of the rules and a very moral Gryffindor. Maybe there was more to her than met the eye. He would have to be aware of her, careful not to betray himself in front of the witch. 

Suddenly, the door of the compartment slid open. 

“Very clever, Granger,” said Draco Malfoy. Tom observed Abraxas grandson. They look a lot alike and had the same silver hair. The other boys, soons of Death Eaters too, Vicent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, were standing behind him as bodyguards.

“So,” said Malfoy slowly, advancing slightly into the compartment and looking slowly around at them, a smirk quivering on his lips. “You caught some pathetic reporter, and Potter’s Dumbledore’s favorite boy again. Big deal.” His smirk widened. Crabbe and Goyle leered. “Trying not to think about it, are we?” said Malfoy softly, looking around at all three of them. “Trying to pretend it hasn’t happened?”

“Get lost, Malfoy!” hissed Weasley, furious. Granger glared at Malfoy. Tom just watched Malfoy calmly. He seemed to share his relative’s points of view, but he seemed a lot more pathetic than Abraxas, coming to taunt his enemies in a very petty display of words. Tom could say he was disappointed with how the Malfoy line had turned out. 

Now Malfoy talked directly to him. “You’ve picked the losing side, Potter! I warned you! I told you you ought to choose your company more carefully, remember? When we met on the train, first day at Hogwarts? I told you not to hang around with riffraff like this!” He jerked his head at Weasley and Granger. “Too late now, Potter! They’ll be the first to go, now the Dark Lord’s back! Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers first! Well — second — Diggory was the f —”

Tom observed how Weasley, Granger were on their feets. They and other people he couldn’t see from other wagon had hexed the three Slytherins. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were all lying unconscious in the doorway. The Weasley twins entered reclaiming responsibility as well. 

Tom, bored, didn’t pay more attention to the conversation, as the Weasley twins sat with them to talk about things he wasn’t interested in. Soon, they arrived. Tom observed that the Muggle uncle of Potter, Mr. Dursley, was waiting for him beyond the barrier with a dissatisfied expression in his face as if that was the last place he wanted to be. Mrs. Weasley was close by him. To Tom’s displeasure she hugged him very tightly when she saw him and whispered in his ear, “I think Dumbledore will let you come to us later in the summer. Keep in touch, Harry.” 

“See you, Harry,” said the Weasley boy, clapping him on the back. 

“’Bye, Harry!” said Granger and kissed him on the cheek. 

Tom said goodbye to all of them, feeling displeased with the familiarity he was treated. As Tom Riddle he would never have to endure that kind of treatment, he had always preferred the distant and polite approach.

Tom went with Mr. Dursley and followed him silently from the station. The Muggle didn’t greet him, but according to Potter’s memories that wasn’t strange. That part of Potter’s life felt very similar to his. The people from the orphanage had hated him too and feared him because of his magic or “strangeness”. 

The riding in the car was silent too. Tom felt the same frustration he had felt every year, when he was obligated to go back to the orphanage, back to the Muggle world he despised so much, despite being an incredible wizard. He was meant to behave like a Muggle every year during the summer with the ridiculous Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery. In his third year, he had found ways to avoid it, going to places were magic was common and his own would pass undetected. But he couldn’t go all the time, as he was supposed to be at the orphanage at least before curfew. And now was the same. When he was at Privet Drive, he wasn't allowed to do magic, as it was a Muggle neighborhood. Why did Dumbledore send Potter there every year? Tom once had the same question about himself and had asked it to Headmaster Dippet, but Dippet had given a reasonable response. The truth was that Tom hadn’t anywhere else to go and Hogwarts wasn’t open for the students in the summer, as there was nobody who could take care of them. It was a rule of the school that couldn’t be broken. But Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived? Surely lots of wizards would be happy to adopt him or give him a home for the summer. In fact, the Weasley family had already offered. But Dumbledore had insisted Potter went back to his horrible relatives. Why? There had to be a good reason, because the old wizard never did anything without a reason. 

While Tom pondered all of this, they arrived at Privet Drive. Tom watched from the car. The neighborhood consisted of several boring, boxy houses with gardens at the front and back. 4 Privet Drive seemed equally dull. He would have to entertain himself with the books he had stolen and Apparate to other places if he was going to survive that summer without killing someone.


	4. Summer in Hell

It was like Privet Drive was Tom Riddle’s personal hell. First, the place was Muggle to the core. The neighbourhood consisted of a number of boring, boxy houses with gardens at the front and back. Everything about it seemed to show its Muggle nature: it was the last place a wizard should have to live in. Secondly, was the heat. Apparently, that was the hotter summer to ever affect that part of England. Because of the drought, cars that were usually gleaming (at least in Harry Potter memories) stood dusty in their drives and lawns that were once emerald green lay parched and yellowing, and the use of hosepipes had been banned. Tom was constantly sweating, and he hated it. Third, were the Muggles who lived in the house; The Dursleys. The situation reminded him heavily of the orphanage. His caretakers had despised Tom as much as Potter’s relatives hated him. And for the same reasons; being a wizard. It was true that their behavior was better than before, seemingly because they were afraid of Sirius Black, Potter’s godfather, and what he would do to them if they mistreated him too much. That meant they usually ignored him, which was good, because Tom tried not to paid them any attention. But Vernon Dursley yelled at him for the stupidest things at the few times they saw each other, and Tom needed all his restraint not to hex or kill the Muggle. How could a Muggle dare to talk to a wizard like that? Since a young age, Tom had made sure that the adults in charge were afraid of him. He hated when he was being yelled or mistreated, and before he could control his magic, that had happened a lot. So, they usually left him alone, because weird things seemed bound to happen when someone upset him. When he went to Hogwarts, he had to stop using magic at the orphanage, but he had a reputation, so it wasn’t necessary anymore. And now he had to endure that again, but he couldn’t use magic to defend himself anymore. It was frustrating. So, he just stayed quiet and plotted the Muggle’s death in his head every time it happened. Mrs. Dursley didn’t yell at him but looked at him with intense displeasure and talked to him with harsh words, only when necessary. They gave him less food than Potter’s cousin, so Tom had the burning sensation in his stomach of never been truly full that had been regular at the orphanage. And he had to wear the old clothes of that same cousin, which made Tom furious. Appearances were important after all, as Tom had learned soon in life. 

But there was a good thing that Tom never had before. His own room. At the orphanage and even at Hogwarts he always had to share his room with other boys. Of course, his older self didn’t, but those memories didn’t feel like they belonged to him, so they didn’t count. Tom spend many hours reading the books he had stolen from the library, but he didn’t have any answers. Still,_The Soul and its relationship with Magic _probed to be an interesting reading. It had references to a lot of other works and seemed like there was quite some serious research into it. Tom highlighted the passages he thought noteworthy:

“The soul is the immaterial essence, animating principle, or actuating cause of an individual life. All humans have a soul, wizards and Muggle’s alike. There’s not known difference between a magical and a not-magical soul that could ever be proven, despite what wizarding supremacy scholars, like Gale Magnolis, may suggest. The divergence is in the way the soul can express itself. Dreams, myths and art are all manifestations of the soul common to Muggles and wizards. But magic is unique to the wizarding kind. Even the simplest of spells is an expression of the soul of the wizard or witch that cast it. And it’s one that can alter the reality around them. Depending on the wizard, their soul can be inclined towards certain types of magic. In some cases were that proclivity is more drastic, the wizard or witch may be unable or have difficulty with certain types of magic.”

Tom didn’t agree with the author’s vision on Muggles. The fact that wizards could produce magic proved they were superior. But the rest was interesting enough.

“The soul is not an immutable entity; it can change. Experiences can alter the soul of wizards and Muggles alike. Traumatic events can cause wounds to the soul, for example. But wizards have the unique capacity to modify the soul of themselves or another through magic. Every time a wizard uses powerful magic, either dark or light, it can produce alterations in their own soul. For example, the _Patronus_, one of the most powerful white spells, tends to make the soul “brighter”. The repeated cast of some spells can make deep alterations to the soul, sometimes a definitive one.” 

And finally, the most useful:

“A sleeping soul is one that is at a suspended state. This is an uncommon state for the soul, that occurs when people are in a coma or after the shock produced by traumatic circumstances or in certain extraordinary magical cases. Even at the state of sleep, the soul of a human is present and awake. In the case of a ghost possession, for example, the soul of the body’s owner may become dormant. After a traumatic event a soul can chose to sleep in order to process the event. There are individuals incapable of waking up again, although this is highly uncommon. Most frequently, the spiritual awakening occurs after an external event brings back the soul or when the soul had sufficient time to recover itself.”

Tom Riddle was worried about the last piece of information. That meant that his fears were funded; Harry Potter could wake up at some point. So, he had to find a magical way to ensure that he didn’t. The same book indicated that it was possible to alter another soul through magic, so he would try.

The rest of his time, Tom stayed with his eyes closed, looking at Harry Potter’s memories. He had to behave like him, so it was important to know everything in advance. The general conclusion he came with, was that they both had undergone similar circumstances and that Potter was in a lot of ways like the orphan Tom usually pretended to be. Potter was humble, introverted and talented (at least in Defense Against the Dark Arts). That was the same public persona Tom Riddle put to the rest of the world. So, acting like Potter shouldn’t prove too difficult. A main difference between them was his closeness to other people. Tom had always been a loner, he had followers and admirers, but no friends. Potter, on the other hand, cared a lot about his friends. Tom decided it wasn’t really that important, considering he had pretended to care for other people before, when it was beneficial to him. However, he hadn’t become Lord Voldemort because he was careless. One thing that stood out from Potter’s experiences, was his friend, Hermione Granger. Tom had to admit he was almost impressed. The girl was almost as smart as himself. Granger was considered the brightest witch of her age. She excelled easily at doing spells and learning their theory. She had resolved the Potions test in First Year. She made the Polyjuice Potion in her Second Year. She had figured out that Slytherin’s monster was a basilisk and how it moved around the school. She had been given a Time Turner in her third year, because of her desire to take all the classes. She had interpreted Dumbledore’s cryptical orders to save Sirius Black. She had figured out that Sirius Black had sent a Firebolt to Potter (she had been wrong about it been dangerous though) and that Remus Lupin was a werewolf. She had helped Potter at the Triwizard Tournament teaching him the Charm and other spells. She had figured out how Rita Skeeter got her news. In summary, she was the brains of her group. Granger could be problematic if he underestimated her. Besides she and Weasley were close to Potter, they knew him well. He had to be careful around them, because one of them (especially Granger) could notice something was wrong. 

The one that had noticed something was different, curiously, was Potter’s owl, Hedwig. Animals were more sensitive about that kind of thing, after all, and the owl was very smart. Hedwig had realized quickly that he wasn’t Potter. The white owl never came close to him, even when he had food in his hand for her. She stayed most of the time outside, but sometimes came near the window of Potter’s room and stared at him accusingly. Tom’s charms usually worked well with animals, as they loved the magic he conveyed, but Hedwig seemed to maintain a stubborn loyalty to Potter. It could prove problematic, thought Tom. If he was discovered because of a stupid owl... Tom decided that if her behavior continued when they went to Hogwarts, he would have to kill it.

Because of that, he couldn’t send letters to Potter’s friends through Hedwig, and he could only respond when they wrote him, with the owls they sent him. Tom wrote his responses with an old typewriter he found in the room because he couldn’t imitate Potter’s handwriting without magic.

The letters from Granger and Weasley were cryptical. _ “We can’t say much about you-know-what, obviously...” “We’ve been told not to say anything important in case our letters go astray...” “We’re quite busy but I can’t give you details here...” “There’s a fair amount going on, we’ll tell you everything when we see you...” _ It was obvious that they were worried Potter’s correspondence could be intercepted. The letters also implied they were together and that they knew at least something that he didn’t. Tom had concluded they were probably with people of the Order of the Phoenix and that they were part of it, or at least had some participation in it. Which raised the question of why he didn’t. Why was Harry Potter left isolated with his Muggle relatives? Tom worried that Dumbledore suspected him and because of that he wasn’t with the Order. But Granger had scribbled “_I expect we’ll be seeing you quite soon” _ in a birthday card, which could mean that he would be invited to be wherever the Order was. Maybe Dumbledore wanted to protect Potter? Why not protect him inside the Order? Sirius Black, Potter’s godfather, also wrote to him from time to time. “_I know this must be frustrating for you...” “Keep your nose clean and everything will be okay...” “Be careful and don’t do anything rash...” _ Everything pointed to calm Potter’s explosive behavior. Apparently, he was worried Potter would do something stupid. Well_, _Tom thought amused, Black didn’t have to worry about him. Tom Riddle was a far wiser godson.

Something that was clear, anyway, was that the Ministry of Magic was involved in a campaign to discredit Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter. Tom read the _Daily Prophet _every day to catch with the current state of the Wizarding World, and realized that Harry Potter had became a running gag: the newspaper would say things like "a tale worthy of Harry Potter" if someone was telling an unlikely story or "let's hope he hasn't got a scar on his forehead or we'll be asked to worship him next" if someone had a funny accident. Harry Potter's portrait made him sound like someone deluded and attention-seeking. A liar, in another words. It made Tom Riddle smile. Cornelius Fudge was even dumber than he had expected. His Master Soul would have an easy time with his plans. What made Tom even more satisfied, was the way Dumbledore was depicted. A wizard whose best days were left behind him. A crazy and deluded old man. Maybe even dangerous. He had lost his position as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. It felt like everything was falling into place.

* * *

One day Tom Riddle decided he had spent too much time locked up in Potter’s room. After hours reading inside the house, he had gone on a walk around the neighborhood. At first, he didn’t notice anything, just the insufferable heat. But later, he felt it; someone was following him. Tom Riddle had always been especially sensitive to magic; he felt it in the air. Now he sensed someone was trying to conceal himself or herself magically. He took firmly the wand that was on his pocket, prepared to be confronted. But nobody did. Alert, Tom went back to the house, but nothing happened, but whoever was, stayed close. 

Tom waited a couple of hours without feeling any change and then he took Potter’s Cloak of Invisibility, thankful that he had it. He could cast a Disillusionment Charm so powerful that made him invisible, but it wasn’t of any use in Privet Drive, where he couldn’t cast any spells. He went out from the back door without making any noise, then into the street. He searched patiently and carefully in the street for a while when he was around when he saw it. Behind a car there was the figure of someone that was disillusioned, although poorly. Despite having the colors of its surroundings, it had a very defined human silhouette, which was noticeable once Tom was near. The person was crouched down. Tom came slowly behind the person’s back, expecting for the right moment. Then fast, he grabbed the figure by the neck and Apparated far away.

* * *

Tom Riddle and the mysterious figure Apparated in a secluded part of Godric’s Hollow. It was the first magical community that Tom thought of. Here, his actions would pass unnoticed. 

The figure was stronger physically than him and had been struggling during the Apparition to let go, but Tom position behind him/her gave him the advantage. Immediately when they arrived, Tom disarmed the figure and revealed it with two quick wand movements. Before him there was a man squat, with bandy legs, long straggly ginger hair, an unshaven face and bloodshot, baggy eyes that were widen in fear. His clothes were ragged, and he carried a strong bodily odour that was a mix of tobacco and stale alcohol. Tom wrinkled his nose, disgusted. His wand was pointed at him threateningly.

“P-Please don’t hurt me, Mr. Potter!” the man stuttered. He seemed terrified.

“Who are you and why are you following me?” asked Tom, calmly, savoring the man’s fear.

“I-I’m nobody really…” The man started to answer.

“Wrong answer,” Tom said. “_Crucio! _”

The man howled in pain, screaming like a possessed man. Tom felt pleasure at doing the spell; it had been too long since he had cast an Unforgivable.

“Well? I will not repeat myself again,” said Tom, more softly.

The man was lying on the floor, shaking.

“I-I-I’m Mundu... Mundungus Fletcher. I-I was se-sent here with... with orders to watch you...” His voice sounded strained, like he was fighting not to cry.

“Orders by who?” Tom asked.

“Dumbledore…”

“Why?” Maybe Dumbledore knew the truth about him?

“To protect you...”

“From Lord Voldemort?” Tom couldn’t believe that the old wizard had sent someone so incapable to protect Harry Potter. Fletcher seemed physically pained at the mention of his title. 

“N-no... H-he said that you-you were safe here anyway from... You-Know-Who... But, from the Ministry...”

Tom understood now. He had read enough of the lies of the Daily Prophet. However, he didn’t know what kind of protection the headmaster had against his Master Soul. But that was a matter for another day.

The man continued talking with a little more confidence, as he saw that Tom didn't try to hex him again.

“He said that because of the Decree... The underage thing, maybe they would try to make you use magic so they could have a reason to expel you...”

“I see. And I presume you are not the only one sent to spy on me?”

“N-no. We have shifts, today was mine, tomorrow is Sturgis Podmore...”

Tom decided to end the interrogation. Even if it provided less entertainment it would be easier to just use Legilimens on the man. That way he could know if everything the man had said was the truth. Tom pointed his wand at him and looked at Mundungus Fletcher in the eyes and saw his mind. He saw a reunion of the Order of the Phoenix where Dumbledore gave his orders concerning Harry Potter and they argued about the shifts. Fletcher was telling the truth. But Tom wasn’t going to waste such an opportunity, so he examined everything that could be useful. He saw Sirius Black coming to tell him that Voldemort had returned, and that Dumbledore was regrouping the Order of the Phoenix again. Other memories showed Fletcher was present in other meetings. A few images came to Tom; Dumbledore gave a speech and describe what Potter had told him and warned of the dangers to come, in a meeting there was talk about recruiting giants and werewolves, another memorie showed there was talk of keeping an eye on known Death Eaters... But apparently Fletcher was not very important inside the Order, so there were many meetings he wasn't invited to. Tom withdrew from his mind.

Fletcher was looking at him with fear.

“What are you gonna do now? You used magic; the Ministry people will come at any time!”

Tom laughed.

“No, they won’t, Fletcher. But you don’t have to concern yourself about that. You won’t remember any of this.”

Before Mundungus Fletcher could react to what he said, Tom Riddle aimed a Memory Charm at him. Then he created false memories, ones that would make Fletcher believe nothing happened while he spied on him. One could never be too careful around Dumbledore.

Then Tom Apparated them back to Privet Drive and left Mundungus in the same spot he found him. Tom put the Invisible Cloak on himself and went inside the Dursleys house.

* * *

Tom stayed alert. It was a bad time to be Harry Potter. His Master Soul and the Ministry were against him. If Dumbledore was expecting something bad to happen to him, it probably would. When he took walks around the neighbourhood, he could feel that someone was always following him, but he pretended he didn’t notice it. The people from the Order never contacted him, but after seeing Fletcher’s memories, he wasn’t surprised. He had a plan, because it was not in Tom Riddle’s nature to trust anyone to take care of him, especially not anyone who came from the Order of the Phoenix. If he couldn’t do magic, then he would Apparate away when he was attacked. The Ministry couldn’t detect that. Maybe that Harry Potter was expelled from Hogwarts and his wand broken was not a bad thing, but if he was using his body, he needed a wand and it would be smarter to be closer to Hogwarts and the Order. 

It had been an entire month since Tom had arrived at Privet Drive when it finally happened. He had gone for a walk to distract himself. He met with Potter’s cousin on the way back to the house and knew he had to go with him. His curfew was to arrive before his cousin did according to the Dursley’s. They were going in the same direction, but Tom kept a little distance behind, hating every time he had to talk to any Muggle. Dudley Dursley gave him a distrustful look but didn’t talk to him. They were walking in silence for a while and when they were almost arriving, all the lights went out. Something had happened to the night. The star-strewn indigo sky was suddenly pitch-black and lightless — the stars, the moon, the misty streetlamps at either end of the alley had vanished. The distant grumble of cars and the whisper of trees had gone. The balmy evening was suddenly piercingly, bitingly cold. They were surrounded by total, impenetrable, silent darkness, as though some giant hand had dropped a thick, icy mantle over the entire alleyway, blinding them. Tom draw the wand.

Dudley gave an odd, shuddering gasp, as though he had been doused in icy water. He started whimpering to Tom, asking if he was doing it and telling him to stop, but Tom didn’t pay him any attention. He stayed attentive to the magic around him. There wasn’t anyone hiding with magic, so the protector Dumbledore had sent wasn’t around and two Dementors were coming to him. He couldn’t wait for someone to do magic for him, not that he expected it, anyway. If you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself. When the Dementors were close enough, he disappeared with a snap.

* * *

Tom Apparated in an empty corner of Diagon Alley. He casted an Unnoticeable Charm in himself in order to avoid attention. The spell made the target unremarkable, so people would see him, but they wouldn’t care much for him. It worked only on weak minded individuals, of course, but he couldn’t cast his powerful Disillusionment Spell, because Potter didn’t even know that spell (and he wasn’t supposed to do magic anyway), so if someone was watching him, they couldn’t necessarily tell he had done anything. Without further delay, he went straight to Eeylops Owl Emporium. A tiny bell sounded when he pushed the door, breaking the spell and making the seller notice him. The seller was an old man in his sixties, with grey hair and beard. His eyes widen when he saw him. 

“I need to send a few letters with urgency. Could you rent me an owl?” asked Tom, calmly, ignoring the old man’s reaction.

“Of course, Mr... Potter.” answered the seller, looking at the scar in his forehead without any shame. “It would be two Sickles the letter. Do you need paper?”

Tom nodded and handed him the money. The seller gave him paper and ink, and Tom went to the back of the store to write without being disturbed. He wrote four identical letters that described what happened, where he was, and claimed he had “accidentally” Apparated in Diagon Alley. He addressed the different letters to Weasley, Granger, Black and Lupin. Before he sent them, he did a non-verbal spell that turned his meticulous handwriting into Potter’s untidy strokes. He went back to the counter and gave the seller the letters to sent them. The old man put each letter in the paw of four plain brown owls, that came all from the same cage, and sent them flying. 

Satisfied, Tom waited. He stayed around looking at the owls, bored. The seller eyes followed his every movement. They stayed silent for a long time, until the old man broke it.

“So... you really are Harry Potter, aren’t you?”

“Yes, that’s me,” Tom said nonchalanty.

“And... is it true? What the papers say about you? That you are... kind of crazy and all that...”

Tom looked at the seller a bit amused.

“Well, I wouldn’t tell you if I was, would I? Seems like a pointless question to me.”

Before the seller could respond to that, the door opened again, and two people came in. It was Remus Lupin, the werewolf, and a woman Tom couldn’t recognise from any memories Potter, himself, or Fletcher ever had. The woman entered first. She had short black hair and brown eyes; she would have been unremarkable if it wasn’t for the enthusiasm with which she opened the door. She went to Tom quickly with a big smile in her face, like they were old friends and in the way to him, she threw away an empty cage. She started to apologize profusely to the seller, bringing him the cage, forgetting about him for a moment. Remus Lupin went more quietly to him, examining him. He was wearing extremely shabby wizard’s robes. Lupin had light brown hair flecked with grey. He seemed tired and had dark circles under his eyes.

Instead of greeting him, Lupin asked: “What creature was in the tank of my office the day Harry Potter first visited my office?”

“A... Grindylow,” Tom answered, congratulating himself for being prepared.

Now Lupin smiled weakly to him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Harry. I had to make sure it was you.”

Tom had to contain a wicked smile.

“Oooh, he looks just like I thought he would,” the witch said, disrupting. She was next to Lupin now. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Harry!” 

“Nice to meet you as well,” said Tom. They shook hands. She was smiling brightly to him.

“Harry, this is Nymphadora —” said Lupin.

“Don’t call me Nymphadora, Remus,” said the young witch with a shudder. “It’s Tonks.” 

“— Nymphadora Tonks, who prefers to be known by her surname only,” finished Lupin. 

“So would you if your fool of a mother had called you ‘Nymphadora,’ ” muttered Tonks. 

Tom arched an eyebrow at the exchange but didn’t say anything. The witch was quite peculiar.

“Where are we going?” asked Tom.

“To the headquarters. We’ve set them up somewhere undetectable. It’s taken a while...” Lupin answered. “But we shouldn’t talk about it here. We must go. But you have to drink this first, Harry.”

Lupin was offering him a flask with a liquid that seemed like…

“Polyjuice Potion?” asked Tom.

“You’re quite good with Potions, aren’t you?” asked Tonks impressed. “We can’t get you out looking like yourself.”

Tom nodded and swallowed the potion ignoring his apprehension. Harry Potter wouldn’t distrust Lupin, so he had to play along. He felt himself transform and become a little shorter. In the meantime, he saw that Tonks Confounded the seller. 

They went out of the shop. Lupin guided him through Diagon Alley, with Tonks at the front. They arrived at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, to Tom’s surprise. Inside, Fortescue received them, letting them inside quickly.

“We need the portkey, Florean,” Lupin explained.

Without any questions, Fortescue searched inside a closet and then gave them an old cooking pot. Lupin, Tonks and Tom touched the portkey at the same time. Before it started moving, Tom thought that his plan had worked perfectly.


	5. The Order of the Phoenix

“Here we go!” called Tonks, when the portkey landed.

Tom looked around. The grimy fronts of the surrounding houses were not welcoming; some of them had broken windows, glimmering dully in the light from the street-lamps, paint was peeling from many of the doors, and heaps of rubbish lay outside several sets of front steps. He knew this place. Or at least he had memories of it. He came invited by Orion Black once, along with other Slytherin classmates. They were outside the House of Black. But why were they here? It didn’t make any sense.

Lupin raised what looked like a silver cigarette lighter into the air and clicking it. The nearest streetlamp went out with a pop. He clicked the un-lighter again; the next lamp went out. He kept clicking until every lamp in the square was extinguished and the only light in the square came from curtained windows and the sickle moon overhead. 

“Borrowed it from Dumbledore,” explained Lupin, pocketing the Put-Outer. Tom observed it greedily; he had heard of Dumbledore's invention, but he had never seen it with his own eyes.

They approached the space between the two houses where Tom knew the house was hidden. Lupin gave him a piece of parchment and holding his lit wand close to it, so as to illuminate the writing. 

“Read quickly and memorize,” Lupin said.

Tom looked down at the piece of paper. The narrow handwriting was vaguely familiar. It said: _ The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London. _

A sense of triumph overcame Tom. The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix! These fools had led him right into their hiding place.

Lupin pulled the piece of parchment out of Tom’s hand and set fire to it with his wand tip. The message curled into flames and floated to the ground. Tom looked around at the houses, thought of the message and no sooner had he reached the part about number twelve, Grimmauld Place, than a battered door emerged out of nowhere between numbers eleven and thirteen, followed swiftly by dirty walls and grimy windows. It was as though an extra house had inflated, pushing those on either side out of its way. 

Tom walked up the worn stone steps, staring at the newly materialized door. Its black paint was shabby and scratched. The silver door knocker was in the form of a twisted serpent. There was no keyhole or letterbox. Lupin pulled out his wand and tapped the door once. Harry heard many loud, metallic clicks and what sounded like the clatter of a chain. The door creaked open.

“Get in quick, Harry,” Lupin whispered. “But don’t go far inside and don’t touch anything.”

Tom contained the need to snort: as if he was stupid enough to touch anything in that house without realizing.

Tom stepped over the threshold into the almost total darkness of the hall. Giving his back to his enemies was unnerving, but Harry Potter would have done it, so he had to. Tonks closed the front door, so that the darkness in the hall became complete. 

There were hurried footsteps and Mrs. Weasley, emerged from a door at the far end of the hall. 

“Oh, Harry, it’s lovely to see you! Thank Merlin, you are okay!” she whispered, pulling him into a big hug, making Tom stiff and fight the urge to push her. Then she turned to the wizards behind him and whispered urgently, “They have just arrived, and they bring the report. The meeting is about to start...” 

That piqued Tom’s interest. Tom made to follow Lupin, but Mrs. Weasley held him back.

“No, Harry, the meeting’s only for members of the Order. Ron and Hermione are upstairs, you can wait with them until the meeting’s over. I will call you later, so you can tell everyone what happened...” Tom clenched his teeth, furious, but stayed silent. “I’ll explain later, I’ve got to hurry, I’m supposed to be at the meeting — I’ll just show you where you’re sleeping.” Pressing her finger to her lips, Mrs. Weasley led him on tiptoes past a pair of long, motheaten curtains and after skirting a large umbrella stand that looked as though it had been made from a severed troll’s leg, they started up the dark staircase, passing a row of shrunken elf heads mounted on plaques on the wall. 

“There” — they had reached the second landing — “you’re the door on the right. I’ll call you when it’s over.” And Mrs. Weasley hurried off downstairs again. Tom crossed the dingy landing, turned the bedroom doorknob, which was shaped like a serpent’s head, and opened the door. He caught a brief glimpse of a gloomy high-ceilinged, twin-bedded room, then there was a loud twittering noise, followed by an even louder shriek, and his vision was completely obscured by a large quantity of very bushy hair — Hermione Granger had thrown herself onto him in a tight hug that nearly made him throw a Killing Curse to her out of instinct. Didn’t anyone respect Harry Potter’s personal space?

“HARRY! Ron, he’s here, Harry’s here! We didn’t hear you arrive! Oh, how are you? Are you all right? You’ve got to tell us — the Dementors! When we heard... We have been so worried! Is it true that you Apparated? That’s quite difficult, you know? Have you been furious with us? I bet you have, I know our letters were useless — but we couldn’t tell you anything, Dumbledore made us swear we wouldn’t, oh, we’ve got so much to tell you...”

The witch talked so much that Tom felt extremely irritated. Didn’t they saw each other just a month ago? 

“Let him breathe, Hermione,” said Ron Weasley, grinning. The Granger girl let Tom go.

Tom looked carefully between both. Harry Potter’s best friends; fooling them into believing he was Potter would be more difficult than making others believe the same. They knew the boy better. Until now, he had spent little time with them, but now it couldn’t be helped. 

“Harry, are you all right? Can you tell us what happened?” asked Granger, in a softer tone this time. Her brown eyes were wide and were staring intensely at him with worry. For some reason, it made Tom felt slightly uncomfortable.

Tom explained all that had happened, including the part where he “panicked” and “accidentally Apparated”.

“And your cousin?” the girl asked, worried. “Did you see what happen to him?”

Tom didn’t know how to answer that. The truth was that until now he hadn’t thought of the Muggle at all. 

“No... I don’t know,” he chose to answer.

“I’m sure he’s all right,” Granger reassured him. “I know some people went to your house, so they will rescue him.”

There was an uncomfortable silence after that.

“Why Diagon Alley, mate?” asked Weasley, in an obvious attempt to change the subject. 

“It was the first place that came to mind,” lied Tom.

“Well, you did good, mate. It was the best place you could Apparate, Dad said so. You were very lucky.” 

Tom nodded. The uncomfortable silence fell again.

“Well... It’s good to see you again,” said Tom, smiling at them. Yes, that was something Potter would say.

They both looked at each other with a strange look.

“Are you not mad at us?” asked Weasley. 

Tom arched his brow. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“We thought you were angry with us. You sent us only a few letters... Your letters sounded rather distant and cold...” Granger admitted. Tom felt frustrated; he had tried to sound like Potter in his letters, but apparently, he had failed.

“Yeah, mate. Hermione was going spare, she kept saying you’d do something stupid if you were stuck all on your own without news, but Dumbledore made us swear not to tell you,” explained Weasley. 

Tom changed to the subject he really cared:“But why Dumbledore wanted to keep me in the dark? Did he tell you?”

“We told Dumbledore we wanted to tell you what was going on,” said Weasley. “We did, mate. But he’s really busy now, we’ve only seen him twice since we came here and he didn’t have much time, he just made us swear not to tell you important stuff when we wrote, he said the owls might be intercepted.”

Intercepted. Tom didn’t mean just that month. Why Dumbledore hadn’t considered telling Harry Potter about the prophecy? Tell him about the Order of the Phoenix? Or more basic stuff, like keeping him under watch. Did the old man not trust his own protégée? Or maybe he suspected something about him? 

The witch misinterpreted his expression.

“He seemed to think it was best. I’m sure he was only thinking about your safety,” Hermione said.

Tom wanted to laugh. They really trusted that old fool, even Potter, when the trust was obviously not returned. But he kept that to himself.

“Yes, maybe you’re right,” Tom conceded.

The Granger girl didn’t look convinced. She kept looking at him like she was expecting him to burst at any moment. 

“Your mother said you were not allowed in the meetings,” Tom said to Weasley, changing the subject again. “But do you know something? I mean, surely you heard things…” 

They processed to explain what that place and the Order of the Phoenix were. And Tom heard them patiently, despite knowing it.

“We only know what Sirius told us. He said some people from the Order are following known Death Eaters, keeping tabs on them, you know —” Weasley said.

“— some of them are working on recruiting more people to the Order —” Hermione continued.

Tom hide his disappointment. He had known most of that through Fletcher’s mind.

Then, with two loud cracks, Fred and George, Ron’s elder twin brothers, had materialized out of thin air in the middle of the room. Weasley’s small owl twittered wildly and zoomed off to the top of the wardrobe.

“Stop doing that!” Hermione said weakly to the twins, who were as vividly red-haired as Ron, though stockier and slightly shorter. 

“Hello, Harry,” said George, beaming at him. “Mom said you were here.”

“Yeah. Hey, Dad told us about your little adventure,” said Fred. “So, you Apparated? Look how unfair life is, George, we just passed our Apparition tests, and he does it without any training. Makes you feel quite conventional, doesn’t it?”

Tom smiled forcefully to them. He didn’t think they were funny. He cast around for another change of subject but was saved the necessity of finding one when the door opened.

“Hi, Harry!” said Ginny Weasley, smiling at him. “Mum told me you arrived. Are you okay? I heard something about Dementors…”

Tom looked at the irritating red-head he knew so well. Listening to her ramble in his diary about her life and her crush on Potter had been a torture. He really hoped she was over her crush, he would not stand to her attentions patiently. 

He had to explain again everything that had transpired at Privet Drive to Ginny and the twins. Instead of listening quietly the twins started to ask lots of questions. When Tom thought he could not contain his annoyance any longer, they heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. Seconds later, Mrs. Weasley appeared in the bedroom doorway. 

“The meeting’s over, Harry. You can all come down.”

Mrs. Weasley waited for them and came down with them. She seemed nervous and was avoiding Tom’s eyes. 

In the kitchen, there was a group of wizards around a table. There were a lot of empty chairs, meaning most of the people at the meeting were already gone. Sirius Black stood up from the table and gave Tom a hug. He returned it, feeling uncomfortable. At times like this, he hated been in Harry Potter’s skin. Tom didn't like hugs. He greeted Arthur and Bill Weasley, who were also there. He was introduced to Alastor Moody, a veteran Auror. Tom already felt more alert. And when he saw a woman with purple hair, he found out that she was the same one he had already met, Tonks. She had changed her appearance; she was a Metamorphmagus and an Auror too. Later, the twins and Ginny Weasley arrived. The red haired gave him a smile to greet him. Tom wondered again if the girl was over her infatuation with Potter. It would be extremely annoying if she wasn’t.

He looked at the table and saw that everyone at the table had solemn faces. Tom was sure he was going to get bad news. Black asked him to repeat his story to everyone, and he did.

“I understand Accidental Apparition is quite rare. You must have powerful magic,” observed Moody, with both of his eyes piercing at him.

It sounded like a praise, but Tom felt his insides clenching. He had the reputation of been a paranoid Auror, even a little crazy. The kind of creative mind that could figure out whom he really was. He forced himself to stay calm and accept the compliment.

There was a silence, like they didn’t know what to say.

“Harry…” said Arthur Weasley. The man seemed troubled and was looking at him with pity in his eyes. “I have bad news to give you. When you sent word to us, we went immediately to your house. Me, Kingsley and Alastor, while Remus and Tonks went to get you. When we arrived, it was too late. The Dementors were already gone and your cousin, Dudley... he was Kissed... I’m very sorry, Harry.”

There was a deep silence, while Arthur words sink into everyone. Tom didn’t know what to say or how to react. What would Harry Potter do? Potter hated his cousin, but on the other hand he was very sentimental. And Potter had a very developed hero complex, so he would probably feel guilty.

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” said Mrs. Weasley softly.

Tom nodded, hoping that was enough.

“Well, Dumbledore... he was furious,” Black said. “He’s forcing the Ministry to launch an investigation, so rest assured about that.”

“And even if the Ministry doesn’t, we will,” said Tonks, firmly. “There are enough Aurors in the Order for that.” 

Everyone stayed silent for a moment. It was then that Tom heard it. _ 'No. No. Not again. This is my fault. Dudley died because of me'. _Tom felt his blood run cold. That was Potter’s voice.

“I have to go. I need some time alone,” Tom said quickly, and before anyone could stop him, he left the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Killing Dudley actually hurt! I see why J.K. Rowling apologizes for the characters she killed.


	6. Family Bonds

Tom Riddle had locked himself up in a room, resting on a bed for a few hours. Potter’s voice had disappeared immediately from his mind, after he left the kitchen, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He built his Occlumency shields as strong as he could. As far as he could tell, Potter soul was still dormant. The only good thing that came from his outburst was that it appeared like an emotional response Potter may had.

No Someone knocked on the door. 

“Come in,” said Tom reluctantly.

Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley came in. The later had a tray with food in his hands. 

“Mum told me to bring this in case you were hungry,” Weasley explained sheepishly.

Tom, in fact, was hungry. 

“Thank you,” He mumbled and then started eating.

“Do you... want to talk about it?” asked Weasley without conviction. His face showed that it was the last thing he wanted to do.

“Not really,” replied Tom. The last thing he needed was to bring Potter to the surface again by discussing the death of his cousin.

Weasley accepted his response. 

“Well... do you... want to talk about something else?”

“Sure,” complied Tom. He actually wanted to be alone, but he had to maintain his cover.

So, Weasley started talking about nonsense that was in the newspaper. Tom barely answered, preferring to eat the food in the tray. Then, Weasley gossiped about his brother Bill, who apparently was helping Fleur Delacour with her English with “private lessons”. Later, Weasley told him about Percy, and how he had betrayed the family joining the Ministry or something equally ridiculous. Tom didn’t particularly care about gossip, but it was always good to have personal information of his enemies and family. Then, Weasley commented about his favourite Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons. Now Tom barely listened; he had always hated Quidditch, and he didn’t have more patience for Weasley. He just gave his approval with sounds and nodding, like he was listening to him, while he ate the rest of the food.

After he was finished eating and hearing Weasley’s nonsense, Tom decided something. It was an idea he had during the summer. He may have to act like Potter, but he wasn’t him, and he needed something more than Quidditch in his life to survive. After all, people changed and Potter had been through a tough ordeal.

“You know, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about. I was thinking during the summer. This year we take our O.W.L.s and I think it’s important we start to take more seriously our education,” said Tom.

Weasley was looking at him with wide eyes and his mouth open, like he couldn’t believe what he heard. 

“Oh, Harry, I completely agree!” said Granger, enthusiastically, with her eyes bright with delight. “They are very important for our future. Depending on our grades we can take the N.E.W.T.s we want later.”

“Are you serious?” asked Weasley, who looked at him in disbelief.

“Yes, I am. And it’s not only because of school. We need to be prepared for Lord Voldemort.” said Tom, calmly. He knew that was a good excuse. Potter’s friends made pained expressions at the name.

“And what do you propose?” asked Weasley.

“To go to study in the library with Hermione more often.” said Tom. He would prefer to read on his own, but Potter was a social creature and was always with one of his best friends. It would be less suspicious if he was with them. When he was in school, he had made his followers study with him sometimes. He had needed to be surrounded by capable people, after all.

Weasley seemed almost green, like he couldn’t really believe it. Granger seemed like she had never been happier.

“I think it’s a great idea, Harry! You will like it, I promise! I can make us schedules, in order to fit our different activities, like your Quidditch practices.” proposed Granger. Tom was amused by her enthusiasm. She clearly loved studying and learning, and her friends didn’t appreciate it. He didn’t understand why she wasted time with Potter and Weasley, anyway, if they didn’t have any common interests. Well, Tom had to admit he was not expert in friendships.

“But… what about our free time?” asked Weasley, in a horrified tone.

“Don’t be silly, Ron. If you follow the schedule I give you, you will have plenty of time for other things,” answered Granger.

“She might be right, Ron,” encouraged Tom, feeling a sick satisfaction at the boy’s pale face. Granger smiled at him. Keeping her happy could also be useful, so she wouldn’t get suspicious. Happy people asked themselves fewer questions and were more oblivious, in Tom’s experience.

“We can begin before returning to Hogwarts! You should get ahead of the readings we will have this semester, that’s always useful,” proposed Granger, looking hopeful.

“I think is an excellent idea,” agreed Tom.

Weasley looked a bit green, like he was going to lose consciousness any minute.

* * *

The next day, Tom was in the kitchen staring at the serious man in front of him. He introduced himself as Kingsley Shacklebolt. Another Auror, he had said. Tom kept his expression neutral, not showing how alert he really felt.

“I’m sorry for your lost, Harry. Can I call you Harry?” asked the man, who had a very deep voice.

Tom nodded.

“Luckily I managed to get assigned to the case of your cousin Dudley by the Auror Department. The Ministry is trying to put this under wraps, I’m afraid, but the investigation will be held in secret. Even they are worried about a couple of Dementors out of Azkaban without permission and your cousin had obvious signs of a Dementor attack.”

“Thank you, sir. It means a lot to me.” 

“You can call me Kinsgley, Harry. And you don’t need to thank me, it’s my job after all. You might be glad to know that I explained everything personally to your aunt and uncle. I tried to be as tactful as possible… They didn’t take it very well, which is understandable, of course… I promised them that the Order will provide for any financial support they might need due their son’s condition.”

“Not the Ministry?”

“No, the Ministry of Magic neglects their obligations to the Muggle society sometimes. I think they don’t want to attract attention to this incident. It could bring a lot of panic if people suspected that Dementors were out of control... But rest assured that the Order will take care of your family. ”

“And do you have any leads to who sent those Dementors?” asked Tom. He was genuinely interested in the answer. 

“We don’t know yet. The most likely possibility is that Voldemort did it. But as you may know, the Ministry doesn’t consider that an option, so they are investigating other possibilities. But I will be inside the investigation, so if any lead comes up that points to that direction, the Order will investigate it.”

“I see.”

Shacklebolt looked at him for a while. He seemed hesitant now.

“There’s another situation that I needed to inform you, Harry. The Dursleys are very upset about this incident… He was their son, after all. I’m sure that when they have more time to think about it, they will change their mind, but... They said that you can’t go back to live with them.”

Tom didn’t say anything. He was not surprised at all. He was sure they believed it was Potter’s fault. Well, in a way, it was, he thought cruelly. He would not miss Privet Drive, and he was sure Potter wouldn’t either. It was not a big loss.

“Dumbledore went to talk to them to try to convince them. He wasn’t lucky, but you need to understand that the wound is fresh and that it’s too soon for them to see reason. Dumbledore said you can stay here the rest of the summer. But don’t worry, Dumbledore will talk to them again in the near future, when things have settle down.”

Why did Dumbledore insist so much with the need of Potter to stay there? Tom needed to know why. And he had to put that idea out of their heads too.

“I appreciate the sentiment, Kingsley.” said Tom in a colder tone. “But they don’t want me back and I don’t wish to go either. I don’t understand Dumbledore’s reasons. It’s cruel to impose my presence. They have never liked me and now they have fewer reasons to. The least we could do is leave them alone. My presence is putting them in danger.”

Tom tried to sound selfless in order to convince the Auror. And his words would reach Dumbledore, no doubt. Potter had a bloody hero complex, so it seemed appropriate he behaved that way. The truth was Tom couldn’t care less about the Muggles. 

Shacklebolt didn’t seem to know how to respond to that. 

“Well, thank you for everything, Kinsgley,” said Tom in a friendlier tone. He stood up and left the kitchen.

* * *

Sirius Black was waiting outside for him, to Tom’s annoyance. Tom wanted some time alone, but apparently Potter was always surrounded with annoying people. By the look on his face, Black knew what had been talked in the kitchen. 

“Hey, Harry. Got a minute?” 

“Sure.”

“Well, I want you to know that Kingsley already told me about the Dursleys. And you don’t have to worry about it, you will always have a place at my house.”

“Thank you, Sirius.” 

“And I want to show you something,” explained Black. 

He followed Black with curiosity now. Black led him through the house, opening different doors. Grimmauld Place didn’t seem to had change much, despite their new occupants. The gloomy air that surrounded everything was intact, and Tom wondered if it was because there were still traces of Dark Magic around. The Black family had practised it for generations, after all.

Black stopped in front of the family tapestry. Tom remembered it, but the tree had changed. It was bigger and some names were no longer there. The tapestry looked ancient; it was faded and looked as though Doxies had gnawed it in places; nevertheless, the golden thread with which it was embroidered still glinted brightly enough to show them a sprawling family tree dating back to the Middle Ages. Large words at the very top of the tapestry read _ The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, _ and under it, _ Toujours Pur. _ The last part was the family motto. 

Tom looked at the tapestry feeling jealousy. A wealthy family of purebloods. He had always wanted to be part of one, he had always wanted to be able to prove just how magical his blood was. He was Special, and that powerful magical blood had to be in his veins, he had always known in a way. But when he first entered Hogwarts he hadn’t been able to prove that superiority to others. Later, he found out that his ancestor was Salazar Slytherin and that confirmed his beliefs. But what was left of his family, Morfin Gaunt, had been a disappointment, as shown by his old self’s memories. But the worst part, was that his mother, Merope Gaunt, had tainted his magical blood choosing Riddle as his father. He would never forgive her for that. And Riddle, he was a Muggle who had the indecency to reject the love of a witch and abandon an offspring far superior to him. It made his blood boil, even if he knew that they were both dead. Tom was sure that the only reason he became the prodigy he was, was because he was Slytherin’s successor, and that he had overcome the bad influence of his Muggle blood thanks to that fact.

Tom looked questioningly at Black, wondering why he was showing him his family tree.

“I used to be there,” Black said pointing at a small, round, charred hole in the tapestry, rather like a cigarette burn. “My sweet old mother blasted me off after I ran away from home — Kreacher’s quite fond of muttering the story under his breath.” 

“You ran away? And who is Kreacher?” asked Tom. A second later, he remembered. His Sixth Horcrux memories didn’t come as easily as his own. Right, Sirius Black, the Gryffindor sheep of the family. Tom felt fury at this. Black was in a position he would give everything to have, and he had just abandoned it. The wealth, the power, the privilege… like it was nothing.

“When I was about sixteen, I’d had enough. And Kreacher is my family’s house-elf. A nasty piece of work. He has always repeated the pureblood superiority ideas that my parents preached. He’s crazy now, left alone for too long and listening to the absurds orders of my mother’s portrait. If you see him around, don’t pay him any attention.” said Black bitterly.

“Why did you leave?”

“Because I hated the whole lot of them: my parents, with their pure-blood mania, convinced that to be a Black made you practically royal... my idiot brother, soft enough to believe them... that’s him.” Black jabbed a finger at the very bottom of the tree, at the name 'Regulus Black'.

Tom remembered that name more easily. He was Orion Black’s son. Regulus Black had been one of the Death Eaters that served Lord Voldemort. He had just disappeared one day, and his Death Eaters never found him. His old self had assumed he was dead, because he wasn’t at Azkaban, and he was sure he hadn’t escape. Avery had investigated that.

“Why are you telling me this?”

Black looked at him with a pained expression. 

“Because I know how you must feel, Harry. I know you hated Dudley, just like I hated my brother Regulus. I was the shame of the family, but they were always proud of him. He was sorted in Slytherin, he shared my parents ideals…. He was the perfect son. And he treated me like I was scum,” explained Black. “He became a Death Eater, Harry, if you can believe it. From what I found after he died, I believe he got in so far, then panicked about what he was being asked to do and tried to back out. Well, you don’t just hand in your resignation to Voldemort. It’s a lifetime of service or death.”

Black paused. Tom was frowning. That didn’t make any sense. What happened to Regulus Black? He was sure Voldemort didn't kill him. And he didn’t have any memories that showed Regulus refusing to do of anything. 

Black continued talking. “So, when Regulus died, or more like my family had to accept that he had died, I wasn’t expecting to feel anything, not really. But despite everything… Well, it hurt. He was younger than me, you see. I kept thinking that he never knew anything else, that he didn’t know any better. Like he never had a chance. Despite the fact that I still hated him, Regulus was still my brother. I always wondered if maybe he had redeemed himself at the end… I don’t mean it like... I know he wasn’t a hero. But maybe just refusing to do something he was asked…”

Black’s voice broke. Tom put a hand on his back, like he was sympathizing. Potter’s godfather gave him a tired smile. 

“And I felt that way, even if Regulus was a Death Eater. I had conflicting emotions, because at the same time, he had still been an awful person and brother…” Black trailed off. “And I know Dudley treated you poorly too, and that you told me that he was always a bully. But he was still your cousin and you grow up with him, Harry. So, I just wanted to tell you that if you need to talk about it with someone who understands, I’m here.”

Tom nodded solemnly, pretending to be deeply touched. Luckily, Potter wasn’t good with words. Black wasn’t looking at him any more, but the tapestry instead. They stayed silent for a while, until Molly Weasley called them for lunch.

* * *

There was something that was upsetting Tom Riddle about his early conversation with Black, and it wasn’t about Dudley Dursley. He had concentrated on the memories he got from the Sixth Horcrux about Regulus Black. There weren’t many. He had been unremarkable and not high ranked with the Death Eaters. His old self hadn’t interacted directly with him, except for one time; when Voldemort needed a domestic elf to test his Horcrux protections. Regulus had disappeared two months after that. Tom Riddle felt uneasiness growing inside him, but he fought to calm himself down. He was probably just been paranoid. Regulus Black disappearance wasn’t necessarily connected to that. The boy didn’t strike him as particularly clever and Regulus had no way of knowing what happened with his house-elf.

  
  



	7. The locket

Living in close quarters with his enemies was difficult. Tom was good at acting innocent, he always had been. But he had to share meals next to Aurors and pretend to be Harry Potter in front of people that knew him well. So he always felt alert. There was also Hedwig. Mr. Weasley had brought Potter’s trunk and owl from the Dursleys. The owl came in her cage, but as soon as she was free she had escaped the house. Tom had to explain her behaviour to Granger and Weasley, saying she was probably homesick (which was ridiculous) or that maybe she just disliked Grimmauld Place. To his relief, they seemed to believe it, not very interested in a pet’s behaviour. 

The worst part, in any case, was Mrs. Weasley. In the short time Tom had known her, he hated her strongly. After a meeting of the Order, Sirius Black had invited him to ask anything he wanted to know. Tom had immediately jumped at the opportunity. The knowledge he had from the meetings came from Mundungus Fletcher’s memories, and he wasn’t invited to the most important meetings. But Molly Weasley had immediately stopped him, claiming he and the others were too young, and that Dumbledore had said not to tell Potter “more than he needs to know”. Which had again striken as odd to Tom, how the headmaster seemed to distrust him for no apparent reason. Black and Mrs. Weasley had fought, but in the end, everyone had agreed to let him, Weasley, Granger and the twins, known at least the most relevant. Thanks to Black, he had been able to ask questions, like how the Order was intruding in his Master’s soul plans. The most important fact he learned was that there was a supposed “weapon” that Voldemort “didn’t have last time”, but before they could slip what it was, Mrs. Weasley had stopped claiming that he and the others had heard enough. Tom had never wanted to curse a witch so much like at that moment.

Mrs. Weasley had said she considered Potter like her son. That made Tom’s blood boil. Potter didn’t deserve it. When he was at the orphanage, he wanted someone to acknowledge his worth, to claimed to considered him like a son, if only to get him out of there. But nobody ever had. And the infuriating witch said it to Potter, despite the fact that she already had seven children. Tom didn’t care for the opinion of someone like Mrs. Weasley, but it seemed unfair that Potter got recognized, and he didn’t. He was the most extraordinary wizard to ever live, after all. 

Besides, the witch really behaved like she was his mother. A very annoying and intrusive one. She made sure that they went to bed early and forbid them from talking after sleeping hours. It reminded Tom of the rules of the orphanage and their strict curfews. The worst came when Mrs. Weasley considered he had to join the efforts of cleaning the house. He was Lord Voldemort, not some House-elf! But Tom had to keep his cover, so he swallowed his pride and did it. He was in a very bad mood when he went. Mrs. Weasley at least had spared him a few days, apparently in consideration of his feelings over Dudley’s death. 

So he went reluctantly to find Mrs. Weasley, Ronald, Granger, the twins, Black and Ginny, and help them with the housework. He came into the drawing room. Mrs. Weasley explained what they were “cleaning”. There were dusty glass-fronted cabinets standing on either side of the mantelpiece. They were crammed with an odd assortment of objects: a selection of rusty daggers, claws, a coiled snakeskin a number of tarnished silver boxes inscribed with ancient languages and an ornate crystal bottle with a large opal set into the stopper, full of blood. Tom knew these objects were used to perform the Dark Arts and some dark potions. But Mrs. Weasley and Black apparently had decided to throw them out, like they were rubbish. It made Tom more furious than before. These people were ignorant and knew nothing about magic. He decided to retrieve what he could. But what he wasn’t expecting was to have competition. Someone else was also retrieving and hiding objects to save them. 

When they were in the middle of the cleansing, a House-elf appeared. The infamous Kreacher. It was an odd creature. Except for the filthy rag tied like a loincloth around its middle, it was completely naked. It looked very old. Its skin seemed to be several times too big for it and though it was bald like all house-elves, there was a quantity of white hair growing out of its large, batlike ears. Its eyes were a bloodshot and watery grey, and its fleshy nose was large and rather snoutlike. It seemed to be a bit mad, talking to himself and insulting them like they couldn’t hear it. There was something vaguely familiar about the house-elf that Tom couldn’t put his finger on. He chose to ignore this feeling. All House-elves looked the same to him, anyway.

* * *

Tom had retrieved books about the Dark Arts and some objects from the purging that he thought might be useful. He had hid them all in Potter’s trunk, disguising the books and objects into more inoffensive ones. Luckily Kreacher only took objects that held sentimental value to him, so nothing Tom needed was taken by him. Tom never did this when he knew that Alastor Moody was inside the headquarters, knowing that he might notice him with his magical eye. Tom knew that the Auror might be paranoid enough to even spy on the Boy-Who-Lived, and he wasn’t taking any chances.

It was another cleansing day, when Tom finally found it. They were in one of the multiple rooms of the house that contained dark objects. First, there was a musical box that emitted a faintly sinister, tinkling tune when wound, and they all found themselves becoming curiously weak and sleepy, until Ginny had the sense to slam the lid shut. Tom decided against keeping that object. Then there were some books and a strange silver instrument that he didn’t consider useful. And finally, there was a heavy locket. Ginny had been trying to open it for a while, with not success. Tom hadn’t paid a lot of attention to the object, until Granger spoke to her.

“Give it to me, Ginny. Let me try something.”

Then he looked at the locket, and he felt frozen in place as he recognized it. The locket was made of heavy gold with a serpentine S in glittering green stone inlay on the front. Salazar Slytherin’s locket. 

_It has to be a copy_, Tom thought, desperate. Yes, yes, that made sense. A lot of jewellery made by goblins was copied by others artisans. He observed Granger tried a lot of her clever spells to open the locket, but she couldn’t do it. 

“How strange,” commented Ginny, with her brow furrowed. 

“Let me try it,” Tom said to Granger, in a sharper tone than the intended. 

Granger gave him a questioning glance, but didn’t comment. She gave him the locket. As soon as Tom touched the jewelry, he felt completion, a sense of well-being unlike anything he had felt before. A warm sensation spread in his entire body. It was like he didn’t know something was missing until he touched the locket, but now he couldn’t believe he had lived without it. There was no doubt; it was a piece of his soul. It triggered alarms in his head, along with many questions. How did it end up there? It didn’t make any sense. But he had to do something first, he had to hid it, to keep it safe. 

“You okay, Harry?” asked Black.

Tom forced himself out of his reverie. He hadn’t realized he had stayed silent for so long while he held the locket.

“Yes, I was just thinking, sorry.”

“You sure? That locket might be dangerous.” suggested Granger. 

“No, I don’t think so. Let me try to open it too.” Tom said as casually as he could manage.

He just did a couple of weak spells. When he handed the locket to Black, he felt emptiness. The warm feeling dissipated. The locket was later handed to everyone else. He observed helplessly how the jewellery was passed from hand to hand, and suffered spell after spell. It didn’t suffer any damage, of course, and it didn’t open, but Tom couldn’t help feeling sick by the situation. He was tense the entire time, holding back the need to hex Potter’s friends and retrieve the locket. Finally, they gave up and Tom saw how a piece of his soul was throw in a rubbish bag, carelessly. Tom flinched while it fell, but he didn’t reach for it. It would be too suspicious, and he had to hope that everyone forgot that they ever saw that particular locket. 

Tom was anxious the rest of the day, while helping with the cleansing, until he couldn’t take it anymore, and he excused himself claiming a stomachache. At night, when everyone was asleep, he went hidden by the Invisible Cloak to search for the rubbish bag. When he found it and saw that the locket was still inside, he felt enormous relief running through his veins. Nothing had happened to it. He put it on his neck, and surrendered himself to the sensation of fullness that it provided. 

* * *

Having the locket with him, Tom felt calmer and more rational. He thought of every possibility. How the locket had ended up in the Black house. When he had time to think of the situation, something was obvious. Regulus Black was involved. He was the only Death Eater in the family at that time, and his house-elf was directly involved in the Horcrux protection. Tom knew that his older self had believed that his defences had been impenetrable, but they obviously weren’t. The only explanation to why Regulus Black knew that was… Yes, the House-elf had told him. How? It seemed impossible. Tom felt increasingly frustrated. He was sure no wizard would survive in the cave, let alone an inferior creature like a House-elf. But the only way Regulus Black could know about the Horcrux was if his House-elf survived and told him. That was a fact hard to swallow, because Tom hated to admit he was mistaken, but it was the only explanation. 

So who was that House-elf? Was it dead or alive? Could it be that… Kreacher was that House-elf? Considering Kreacher looked very old, it was a strong possibility. Or maybe an ancestor of his that died young and whose head was hanging on a plaque on the wall of Grimmauld Place along with the others? His older self never knew the name of the creature he took to the cave, because he hadn’t cared. The memories didn’t show the face of the House-elf, because memories were not objective, and Voldemort didn’t think any House-elf was important enough to remember. Tom almost prayed that Kreacher was the same House-self, so he could interrogate it. Because if it wasn’t, Regulus Black’s secrets would have died with him.

* * *

Bloodshot and watery grey eyes were looking at Tom narrowed with suspicion in them. He saw Kreacher enter an empty room, and Tom had quickly followed it, closing the door behind him. Tom evaluated the House-elf with a calculating look. It didn’t seem like a creature worth of his attention, but looks could be deceiving. 

“Hello, Kreacher,” said Tom in a soft voice. “I think it’s time we have a talk.”

Kreacher gave him a look of contempt. 

“Kreacher wonders what could Harry Potter want. But Kreacher doesn’t talk to blood-traitors and half bloods, no, no. What would Mistress say if she saw Kreacher in such company?”

Tom ignored the House-elf’s comments.

“How long have you worked in the Black House, Kreacher?”

Kreacher looked at him for a while like he was expecting a trick. In the end, he answered proudly.

“Kreacher has belonged to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black for more than a century and a half. Kreacher is proud to serve one of the most ancient wizarding families, whose blood is pure and untainted---”

“---I see, Kreacher,” interrupted Tom. “And when Sirius lived here, and after he run away, you were the only House-elf around?”

“Yes,” answered Kreacher, looking suspicious again. “Kreacher wonders why Harry Potter is asking so strange questions---”

Before the House-elf could finish what it was saying, Tom had pointed the wand at Kreacher and petrified it.

“Well, now Kreacher, you will tell me everything you know about this locket and why it is here,” ordered Tom, with a cold and authoritative voice, while he took off the locket that was under his clothes and showed it to the House-elf.


	8. Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! But real life has interfered. I live in Chile, a country that's currently in a big crisis. The worst starting last Friday. My government has forgot about democracy, brought military to the streets and imposed a curfew. All because the president doesn't want to hear what his citizens are asking. In Chile, there's a lot of injustice and inequality, and people became tired of it. If you can, please inform yourself of the situation and spread the news. There are dead people that the press isn't talking about.  
Thinking about injustice inspired this chapter.

Tom Riddle had lost control. 

Kreacher couldn’t tell him anything himself, because of the orders it had been given. But Tom used Legilimency on it, so he saw the truth that rested in Kreacher’s mind. Regulus Black had discovered one of his Horcruxes. First, Tom felt an emotion he rarely felt: fear. He thought no one knew, that no wizard or being would ever figure his secret out. And he’d been wrong. If Regulus, an average wizard, was capable, then others could do it too. The danger of his secret exposed. His eventual death. And then, had come the anger. His fury had overwhelmed him. In an outrage, he had inflected the Cruciatus Curse upon Kreacher, with more conviction he ever remembered doing it. Well, maybe his Older Self had cursed others more strongly, but in Tom Riddle’s lifetime he hadn’t used the curse so often. Tom could recall every instance when he had used it, while the memories of the Sixth Horcrux showed that Lord Voldemort had done it more times than he could count or remember.

Luckily, Tom had made the room soundproof, otherwise Kreacher’s piercing screams would have alerted the entire house. When the curse ended, Kreacher fell unconscious on the floor. Tom stayed still for a while, breathing heavily. Then, he came near Kreacher and checked on him. The house-elf was breathing, but barely. He looked weak and on the verge of death. An alien feeling overwhelmed Tom, seeing the pitiful creature that had taken his wrath. It was not what other might felt in his place, probably horror at what he had done, because he wasn’t bound by such moral concepts. No. No. But it was wrongness, because he had overdone it. Because the real offender was long dead, and his servant had taken his punishment in his place. 

Tom waited for a while, but Kreacher didn’t wake up. Its body was twitching in the typical reaction after intense exposure to the curse. If the house-elf died with clear signals of Dark Magic, Tom would be in serious trouble. Thinking fast, he took a decision. He went to the room he shared with Weasley and opened Potter’s trunk --no, his trunk now-- and retrieved a small bottle of the Body Strengthening Potion that he had been taking regularly over the summer. He came back to the room where Kreacher was and gave him a little of the potion. 

The breathing of the House-elf became more regular, but it didn’t regain consciousness. Relieved, Tom penetrated its mind, to Obliviate him and see where the house-elf usually slept. Kreacher needed rest, so Tom considered a place where it wouldn’t attract attention. Kreacher slept in a small den hidden behind a dingy door, so Tom went to left him there, carrying the house-elf with his magic, both under a Disillusionment Spell. 

Tom put down Kreacher in a nest-like jumbled pile of assorted rags and blankets with a small dent where apparently the house-elf curled up to sleep every night and left him there. Hopefully, no one would notice the House-elf absence until it was recovered.

* * *

For two days, no one asked about Kreacher. The House-elf was not exactly popular in Grimmauld Place, after all. But, on the third day, during the cleansing, someone did.

“Sirius, I haven’t seen Kreacher lately, and he usually appears when we are cleaning. Do you know where he is?” asked Granger.

“Well, fortunately no, I haven’t seen him,” answered Black with disinterest.

The twins snickered.

“I mean it, Sirius,” said Granger, frowning.

“Don’t worry about it, Hermione. He’s probably upstairs crying his eyes out over my mother’s old bloomers or something... Of course, he might have crawled into the airing cupboard and died... But I mustn’t get my hopes up...”

The twins and their younger brother laughed; Granger, however, looked reproachful.

“Can you just call him?” insisted Granger.

Black sighed. “If you insist. Kreacher! Kreacher!”

There was silence, but the House-elf didn’t show up. Tom assumed it was still hurt.

“Where’s that accursed house-elf? Kreacher! KREACHER!”

Black quickly gave up when Kreacher didn’t come.

“Relax, Hermione. I bet he’s hiding somewhere, just to torment me. He probably just wants the attention.” 

And then he went back to cleaning. No one pressed the issue. Granger didn’t seem satisfied, but she stopped insisting. 

* * *

Two days later, early in the morning, Granger entered the room that Weasley and Tom shared. He and Tom were still in bed. Immediately, Tom put on his glasses, took his wand and lowered it when he saw who it was.

“What’s going on?” asked Weasley, yawning. 

“Look, I know that Sirius doesn’t think it’s important, but I’m worried about Kreacher. It’s been four days since anyone saw him. Will you help me look for him?” explained Granger.

Weasley groaned.

“Hermione, it’s bloody six in the morning, we still have time left to sleep before Mum comes to wake us up, and you want me to waste it looking for that House-elf? I haven’t even had breakfast, for Merlin’s sake!”

“I’ll come,” said Tom, quickly. “Just let me get dressed.”

“Well, thank_ you, _Harry,” said Granger with emphasis, while glaring at Weasley. “I’ll be waiting outside.”

* * *

Tom accompanied Granger to search around the house, opening doors and looking inside wardrobes. He thought that if Kreacher was still unconscious and if no one found it, the house-elf would die, and he would get in trouble. Tom made a show of searching in unlikely places until he pretended to find the den that was Kreacher’s room. 

“In here!” Tom called Granger.

The witch came quickly, eyes widening when she saw the house-elf. It was still fainted, his breathing feeble. Granger took his pulse with her hands.

“I think he’s very sick,” she whispered. “We need to get help.”

“Maybe he just needs some rest, Hermione. There’s no reason to alarm everybody,” said Tom, with his most reasonable tone.

“What do you mean with no reason? Kreacher seems to be seriously ill!” Granger reproached him. “You know what? Stay here, I’ll go get Sirius.”

Before Tom could say anything else, the girl was gone. Tom felt extremely irritated; he hated to be given orders or dismissed. And he didn’t understand why the girl made such a fuss over a House-elf.

Soon, Granger appeared with Black at her side. The later seemed to have just woken up, with his hair ruffled and his pajamas still on. 

“What’s going on with Kreacher?” asked Black, moodily.

“He’s sick. I think we need to get him to St. Mungo’s,” said Granger, firmly.

At that moment, Tom was very aware that the girl was a Muggleborn.

“Hermione, only humans are allowed in St. Mungo’s,” explained Black calmly. “We can treat him here, anyway.”

“That’s completely unfair! They might not be humans, but they are sentient and intelligent beings, they deserve the same treatment as us!”

“Well, we don’t get to decide that, the Ministry of Magic does. They make the law. Besides, even if we could bring Kreacher to the hospital, it would expose us. The Black House is supposed to be empty, because I’m a convicted fugitive, in case you forgot. We can not attract attention to the headquarters of the Order by bringing a House-elf that’s supposed to be alone, Hermione,” said Black with a serious expression.

Granger was looking at Black like she had never really seen him before. 

“You can’t mean it…”

“I’m sorry, Hermione, I know it’s not fair. But that’s what being part of the Order means. Sometimes you have to make tough decisions. Everyone else will agree with me, I assure you.” 

Granger seemed to have lost her words. 

“I will make some chicken soup, you will see that Kreacher will get better in no time.” And with those final words, Black left.

There was a tense silence after that. 

“Harry… do you think that everyone in the Order would say the same? That exposing us is more important than Kreacher?” asked Granger, who was looking at Tom with pleading eyes.

Tom considered for a moment what Potter would say, but he wasn’t sure. The Potter boy was as naive as Granger, but that didn’t mean he was delusional. 

“Yes, I believe at least most of them would,” admitted Tom, saying the truth for a change.

“Then, they’re wrong,” said Granger, firmly. “Kreacher's life is just as important as ours and our cause. We can’t be like our enemies, thinking poorly of others just because they’re different from us. I refuse to do that.“

While she said those words with strong conviction and shining eyes, Tom thought that it was very obvious why this girl was in Gryffindor, despite all her Ravenclaw attributes. It was a shame really, that her brilliant mind was so clouded by her emotions, her moral and her limiting convictions. 

“Well, then what will you do now?” asked Tom, mildly curious. Would the girl be as obtuse as to still insist in going to St. Mungo’s? 

Granger seemed to deflate. 

“I suppose there’s no point in going to St. Mungo’s if we know it’s illegal. It would be senseless.” 

Tom thought that at least Granger had some reason in her.

“But, he will not stay here,” observed Granger, pointing Kreacher’s nest. “The least we could do its take him to a bed. He needs to rest properly.”

And the girl took the House-elf in her arms with delicacy. Tom thought that he would never understand people like Granger.

* * *

The next day, Granger stayed most of the time at Kreacher’s side. She had put him in one of the bedrooms with smaller beds, but the House-elf still had plenty of room. At some point, Tom and Weasley convinced her to take a break, and they both volunteered to take her place at turns. In Tom’s case it was for selfish reasons, because he needed to give more potion to Kreacher, so Granger wouldn’t think to ask one of the Aurors to examine it. They would surely realize there was a curse involved. 

The Body Strengthening Potion worked, and Kreacher woke up. He was still weak, but now conscious. Granger seemed pleased, despite the fact that the house-elf didn’t seem thankful and still muttered insults to her. The witch ignored him and continued to take care of him. Tom could not comprehend this lack of self-respect.

When more days passed and Kreacher didn’t need someone by its side all the time, Granger proposed to Weasley and Tom to help her search for House-elf diseases in the library of the Black House. Tom was reluctant at first, but then he thought that it could prove useful. He wanted to understand why a simple House-elf had surpassed the defenses of the Horcrux and despite his vast knowledge of different aspects of magic, he had never investigated house-elf magic, thinking it unimportant.

So, a sort of routine was established in Tom’s new life. In the mornings and part of the afternoon there was the cleansing of the house, interrupted with lunch with people from the Order. Later, Granger, Weasley and him studied anything they could find about house-elves (Tom sometimes read disguised books about the Dark Arts too, the Blacks had amazing books about the subject , and he also searched for soul related topics), and finally at nights, Tom went to retrieve objects he found useful during the cleansing.

It was during one of the study sessions, in which Granger found something disturbing. Tom was reading concentrated, when the girl gasped loudly. 

“What is it?” asked Tom, annoyed by being interrupted. 

Granger was pale. Without any words, she gave Tom and Weasley the book she was reading pointing a paragraph.

_ 'It is not widely known the history of House-elves and the origins of their relationships with wizards. The culprit of this is the revisionist history that’s promoted about the subject, especially around 1600s, when most books that dealt with the subject were destroyed in an attempt to silence the matter. _

_Before they related with wizards, elves were a free species, that lived in small communities, mostly in what is now known as Ireland. Little is known about this period, because of the lost information. However, some folktales that have reach us imply that they were powerful beings, with magic said to be even greater than wizards. Wizards and elves encounters were not peaceful, for elves were said to be unpredictable and powerful. During the Middle Ages, a powerful witch --whose name is still subject of speculation, but who most scholars believe to be the famous Morgana-- experimented with the Darkest of Magics and found a way to bound the magic of the House-elves with the most ancient wizarding families of Brittany. Thus, transforming the elves into the House-elves we know today. It’s believed to be an ancient witchcraft ritual, that caused the House-elves to feel an undying loyalty towards wizards and to be compelled to obey their orders. The exact mechanism can only be speculated, but they usually work through blood ties, making generations of a House-elf families relate directly to wizarding families. Even House-elves whose wizards-line disappear, develop obedience for other witches and wizards who posses strong magic.' _

“Do you realize what this means?” asked Granger, who appeared horrified and disgusted. ”That’s why they are that way. They are cursed. And the S.P.E.W... It’s useless... I will never convince them to be free if they are compelled by magic not to be...”

Suddenly, Granger seemed defeated. Her usually shining eyes were mute.

“Well, but… what about Dobby?” proposed Weasley, trying to encourage her. “He’s a free elf, and he wants to be one!”

“Yes, but he’s still loyal to a wizard… to me,” observed Tom, while Granger nodded. She had also realized it. “Even when he disobeyed the Malfoy’s, he has always been devoted to me. He’s the only house-elf that I ever heard that showed such a rebellious behaviour, but maybe he has more powerful magic than your average house-elf… or maybe his blood ties are more weak… who knows. And he’s still very submissive.”

“And do you remember what he told us about Dumbledore hiring him?” said Granger, sadly. “That he wanted freedom, but not too much of it, so he insisted on fewer holidays and payment than what Dumbledore offered him…. And yes, I think that Dobby would throw himself out of a cliff if Harry just asked.”

Weasley was speechless at this. Tom still had lots of questions hovering his mind, but didn’t say any of them out loud. Granger looked very depressed, like her energy had suddenly disappeared and stayed quiet as well. 

* * *

Granger dedicated herself even more to Kreacher and soon he was recovered. Again on his own feet, the House-elf seemed to be the same as before, but Tom noticed that while he made no gesture to thank Granger, she was the only one that he didn’t insult any more. 

The girl seemed very affected by what she had learned, which Tom couldn’t possibly understand. It wasn’t a problem that actually affected her or anyone close to her. And there wasn’t anything she could do either, so it was really pointless.

The return to Hogwarts was coming soon and with school responsibilities, came the Prefect Badges. Granger was in a better mood when she received hers with her letter. And to Tom’s surprise, Weasley received the other one. Why hadn’t Dumbledore made Potter a Prefect? It didn’t make any sense. And what made even less sense, was to make Weasley Prefect instead. Dumbledore didn’t do anything without a reason, so there had to be a hidden one. To calm Weasley’s envy of Potter? Because Dumbledore distrusted Potter? To protect him? To test him? Or because the old wizard was a bloody eccentric that sometimes took decisions that had no meaning? Or maybe… just maybe… Dumbledore suspected something was very wrong with Harry Potter?

  
  
  
  



	9. Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone for your comments, your kudos and your bookmarks. And especially for AiEnma, naminami, MelodySwanMills and aga1127 for expresing their concern and good wishes. My country is not longer in a state of emergency, but humans rights are still violated daily (#ChileViolatesHumanRights). But we are still protesting, hoping for a better Chile! I appreciate all the foreign support we get.  
And because of this situation, I couldn't concentrate too much in this story, so it took me longer to write these chapters. Yes, chapters! Two chapters this time, thanks for your patience.

_Tom Riddle was twelve years old. _

_The alarm was loud. Tom was in a basement among other kids. The younger ones were crying. The older ones were putting on a brave face, but some were very pale and others were shaking. Mrs. Cole and the other adults were trying to give them encouraging words, but it was obvious they didn’t believe any of them. Tom felt very tense. He could not move. _

_The lamp in the ceiling started to move, later the entire room. The kids were screaming and Mrs. Cole was shouting, trying to encourage them to stay calm. _

_Was this how he was going to die? Among Muggles? Helpless, unable to do anything despite his magic? He, the best student of his generation or maybe the best Hogwarts had ever seen. He, the first parselmouth in more than a century. He, a wizard with a natural talent. The wizarding world had abandoned him and condemned him to spend another summer in hell, in war, in a world he detested. It was not that Tom expected anyone to take care of him. In Wool’s Orphanage the kids soon learned the most important lesson in life: that they were alone, and they had to care for themselves, because no one else would. But he was a wizard, he was special and his life was valuable. Tom was consumed with anger when he remembered the talk he had with his Headhouse, later the Headmaster of Hogwarts and finally the letter he had sent to the Ministry. He tried to explain them, how dangerous it was, that he couldn’t go back to the Muggle world with the war that the Nazis had declared to Britain, that London was not safe because of the raids and that he could die… But the laws were strict and since he had no wizard relatives, he had to go back. Tom always knew that in the end he only had himself. _

_Tom didn’t know if he was going to survive. Other buildings around the neighbourhood hadn’t resisted and it was pure luck that a bomb hadn’t dropped at Wool’s. Anytime it would happen. Tom tried to prepare himself for the possibility of death, but he couldn't. He felt a horrible fear that he had never felt before. He would give anything to survive, anything.  
_

_And it was then that Tom decided that if he survived, he would do everything in his hand to not be in that situation again. He was a wizard. He was powerful. He had magic. Tom was sure if a wizard was powerful enough he could find a way to avoid death. And Tom was one of the best, he was sure of that. He would a find a way to overcome it. He would never die. _

_Hours later, Mrs. Cole seemed to consider it was safe going out. Tom did. The vision that expected him outside was shocking. A building near the orphanage was completely destroyed, bodies everywhere covered by rubble. He could see blood flowing and a hand that came from under a brick… There was blood everywhere. An acrid smell. Screams from the surrounding people. Bodies that lay dismembered. Death. Tom closed his eyes. Tom wanted to be anywhere else, anywhere at all…. _

_Suddenly, the smell and the screaming disappeared. Tom opened his eyes, and he wasn’t in the middle of the war any more. Now he was among long dark corridors, all finishing in dead ends and locked doors. He didn’t try them, because none of them were the door he was looking for. Finally, Tom started walking the longest corridor and at the end there was a door. Tom stayed in front of it and tried to open it. It was locked. There was something he needed with urgency that was behind it. He took his wand to unlock it…. _

“¡Crookshanks, no!” called a female voice, waking him up.

For a few seconds, Tom felt confused. He wasn’t in any corridor or war. Suddenly alert, Tom opened his eyes and searched for his wand. A blurry figure had jumped in front of him. Tom put on the glasses and pointed the wand at what ended up being a cat. He observed that the animal just smelled him, and he lowered his wand. The cat gave him an accusatory look, like it understood what Tom’s gesture meant. Tom looked in its eyes and with Legilimency saw that the cat was curious about him, because it felt he wasn’t Potter. The cat was extremely smart. Those bloody animals were going to be his doom. At least the cat didn’t seem to have anything against him, so he carefully used his magic to surround it, to show it he was trustworthy. The cat seemed to relax, but didn’t accept when Tom tried to pet him. The cat went away and kept looking at him from afar, studying him.

“Oh, Harry, I’m sorry,” apologized Granger. “My parents brought me Crookshanks last night. He’s been very curious and looking around. I didn’t know he would come to wake you up.”

Weasley made a protesting noise on the other bed, apparently awaken by Granger’s voice. The girl sent an apologetic look at him.

“They were here?” asked Tom, incredulous, without lowering his voice. Muggles in the Black House? In the headquarters of the Order?

Granger pointed her wand towards Weasley’s bed, silencing their conversation for him.

“Oh, no. I went to meet them at a coffee shop, I promised that we would meet at least once this summer… It’s the least I could do, considering I spent the summer, the only time I get to see them, in here,” said Granger with sadness. “Tonks came with me. Her grandparents are Muggles, so she knows how to fit in.”

Tom didn’t understand why Granger seemed so sad about it. For him, the Muggle world was dull and asphyxiating, he considered wizards and witches didn’t belong in it. He supposed that the girl cared for her parents, something apparently some people felt. 

“And they accepted that you went away or you just disobeyed them?” asked Tom.

“Well, I convinced them. They trust my judgment. I explained to them what’s going on with You-Know-Who and that I felt that it was important to make a contribution. But to be honest what convinced them was when I told them that I would be safer here than in our house…”

“You told them about Lord Voldemort?” asked Tom, while Granger made a pained face at the name. “Why?” 

Tom couldn’t understand it. The girl was smart. Why tell Muggles that? Surely they would bother her about it, worrying about her and maybe trying to take her out of Hogwarts. 

Granger seemed exasperated, but like she was trying to be patient with him.

“Because they are my parents, Harry. I can’t lie to them about something so important. They deserve to know. Besides, they could be in danger too, you know. Death Eaters hurt Muggles just for fun and if they know they’re my parents, they might come for them… Although Dumbledore didn’t believe they would, considering You-Know-Who is trying to keep a low profile at the moment. But Mr. Weasley came to my house, just in case, and put some wards in them. Just a precaution.”

Right, Granger, with her feelings and her moral righteousness. She had to tell the truth. And apparently because he was an orphan, she wasn’t expecting him to understand it.

“And Dumbledore told you this directly?”

“Oh, no. He sent me a letter saying that me and Ron should be in a safe place, considering we could be possible targets. Well, Ron would be here anyway, because his entire family is in the Order, so it made sense,” the witch explained.

“Yes, it makes sense,” Tom made a pause. “But I wonder... Then why did he sent me to the Muggle world instead of here with both of you? If you could be protected here, so could I, I presume.” Tom said the last part casually, but he was actually interested in the opinion Granger would give.

“I’m sure Dumbledore had his reasons, Harry. You were probably safer there. I know it must have been frustrating for you, alone all summer…” said Granger, trying to comfort him, believing he was upset about it. 

“Yes, I’m not mad. But I wonder what are those reasons? Why am I safer there? Why doesn’t Dumbledore tell me the reason?” pressed Tom, impatiently.

Granger stayed thoughtful. 

“Well, only Dumbledore knows. We can only guess. But something about your family connections is important maybe? Maybe the Muggle world is more isolated and appropriate to protect you? Or maybe he made a powerful protective spell in the house of your aunt and uncle?”

Tom considered Granger’s ideas. Family connections? With the blood sacrifice Lily Potter did, maybe there was something in there. The Muggle world safer? That was ridiculous. And finally, a protective spell on the house? It was possible. That was what made the most sense. Some magical protection around the house. He would investigate about it.

“All very good ideas, _Hermione_,” said Tom, with an emphasis on her name, and then added with malice: “But I can’t help to notice that you didn’t say anything about why you imagine Dumbledore hasn’t told me anything.”

Granger looked uncomfortable. The real Potter probably would never have noticed the omission, been the fool he was.

“Well… like I said, we can’t know for sure. Maybe you’re too young or it could put you in danger if you knew… Or maybe the magic protection stops working if you talk about it… It could be a number of things…” Granger said unsurely.

“Or the more obvious answer, he simply doesn’t trust me. And that would lead to why,” observed Tom, knowing she had avoided that line of thought on purpose.

“Of course Dumbledore trusts you! Don’t be ridiculous.”

“But Dumbledore seems to leave out a lot of relevant information, he doesn’t give me many explanations. This summer's an example of that. Even you must admit that,” said Tom, enjoying the feeling of mudding the image Granger had of the headmaster. He hated the respect people had for the old fool.

“Look, Harry. I know this summer must have been very frustrating for you and that Dumbledore can be… a little cryptic at times. But I trust him. And I’m sure he trusts you too. But you’re still his student and protégé, and he’s the adult in charge. Maybe he doesn’t explain everything to you, but that doesn’t mean he thinks you’re untrustworthy or anything similar. He has put his trust in you many times. Besides, he’s been very busy since… well, since last year, and he doesn’t have a lot of time now to explain anything.” Granger said firmly, giving to her arguments a sense of finality. She was good at that, Tom had to admit it. 

Tom hated to concede victory to anyone, but it was pointless to keep arguing about Dumbledore’s motives. Granger was too convinced of the sanctity of the headmaster. 

“Who knows, maybe you’re right.” lied Tom. “I guess in time, we will know.”

Granger didn’t seem convinced with his agreement, but she didn’t press the issue.

“Well, I guess me and Crookshanks had bothered you enough. See you downstairs.”

And the witch took the cat in her arms and left the bedroom, leaving Tom alone with his thoughts. 


	10. Luna Lovegood

November, 1st 1992.

_Hi, Tom. Sorry that I couldn’t write you for so long! _

**_Hello, Ginny. Don’t worry, I imagine you were very busy with homework._ **

_I was. My brothers always complained and now I see why. There’s too much homework already and the year is just starting. _

**_Remember that it will be worth it. You will learn more magic than you thought possible. And if you need help, you know you can always ask me. _ **

_Thank you, Tom! You’re always so nice to me. I wish my classmates were like that too. _

**_You didn’t have any luck making new friends?_ **

_No. Nobody knows I exist, I’m just another Weasley to them. I tried to talk to my room-mates, but we don’t have anything in common. They don’t even like Quidditch! And I get really nervous talking with new people, I don’t know why. _

**_It’s fine, Ginny. You’re just adapting to a new place, it takes time. Try to act confident and people will be more interested in talking with you. Listen to what your room-mates talk with each other to find out what they like and then you can socialize with them more. Just pretend to be interested in what they say._ **

_But they are so boring! I don’t know if I can do that, Tom. To pretend like that. I rather have real friendships. That reminds me of something! I never told you about Luna? _

**_Luna? No, you haven’t. Who is she?_ **

_She’s the neighbour that I told you was going this year to Hogwarts too. Her name is Luna Lovegood. When we were little we used to be best friends, but after her mum died, her dad took a lot of trips outside the country and Luna went with him. So we lost contact and I never talked to her again. But now she’s here too! _

**_That’s great, Ginny. Maybe you can be friends with her. In what House is this Luna? How would you describe her?_ **

_She’s in Ravenclaw. That’s why we haven’t talk much, we only greet each other in the classes we share. I don’t know how much she’s changed, but she used to be very nice to me. Though, she isn’t like anyone I ever met. She’s... different. She had a lot of imagination. Luna believed in imaginary creatures, and she told me that the bedtime stories my Mum told me, were true, that they actually happened. For example, she said the Fountain of Fair Fortune was real, that it was hidden in secret somewhere. Not even I believe that at that age, but she thought that fairytales were real. I think that’s why her housemates call her “Loony” now, they think she’s crazy. _

**_Well, in that case, I wouldn’t recommend you to get closer to her. If you associate with her, you will have more trouble making new friends. It’s important who you relate to. Your company might tell others what you’re like. And you don’t want them to think that you’re insane, right?_ **

_But Tom, isn’t that superficial? I should be friends with whomever I want despite what other people think, no? _

**_The image you project is important, Ginny. In life, people will treat you according to whom they think you are and not who you actually are. You have to try to have as much control as possible over that image. If you can control how other people perceive you, you can have any friend you want. And if you’re popular enough, not even being friends with that girl could change that._ **

_And how can I do that? Change how other people see me? _

**_I know it sounds complicated, but it’s not, I promise. First, like I already told you, you have to appear confident…_ **

* * *

September, 1st 1995. 

The Hogwarts Express had just departed. Another year at Hogwarts was about to start. In Tom’s case, he was going to do Fifth Year again, but now as Harry Potter. Being Potter had unwelcome effects. Tom Riddle had followers, Harry Potter had friends. Tom Riddle was admired and respected, Harry Potter was mocked and ridiculed, at least for the moment. He could not help noticing that almost in every carriage he passed, students stared back at him with great interest and that several of them nudged their neighbours and pointed him out without hiding it. Apparently the campaign to discredit Harry Potter was working. Tom had to remind himself that this was a good thing. Tom preferred to be admired or even feared. Ridicule was not the kind of attention he ever had to endure before, and he didn’t enjoy it.

Ginny Weasley, the witch he knew more than he would prefer to, was with him. Since her brother and Granger were in the Prefect’s compartment, Ginny had insisted on accompanying him. In the very last carriage they met Neville Longbottom, Potter’s fellow fifth-year Gryffindor, his round face shining with the effort of pulling his trunk along and maintaining a one-handed grip on his struggling toad. Tom looked at him with distaste. His older self had been right about one thing. There was no way that Longbottom was the boy the prophecy referred to. He could never had defeated his Master Soul. In an alternate reality, Longbottom was dead since a long time.

“Hi, Harry,” he panted. “Hi, Ginny... Everywhere’s full... I can’t find a seat.” 

“What are you talking about?” said Ginny, who had squeezed past Longbottom to peer into the compartment behind him. “There’s room in this one, there’s only Loony Lovegood in here —” 

Longbottom mumbled something about not wanting to disturb anyone. Tom recognized the name. He remembered more than he would like about the confidences that Ginny told him. That knowledge was inside him, whether he liked it or not. She had poured a little of her soul into his diary, after all.

“Don’t be silly,” said Ginny, laughing, “she’s all right.” She slid the door open and pulled her trunk inside it. Tom and Longbottom followed. 

“Hi, Luna,” said Ginny. “Is it okay if we take these seats?” 

Tom looked with mild curiosity at “Loony” Lovegood. The girl beside the window looked up. She had straggly, waist-length, dirty-blond hair, very pale eyebrows, and protuberant eyes that gave her a permanently surprised look. The girl seemed even more eccentric than Dumbledore. Perhaps it was the fact that she had stuck her wand behind her left ear for safekeeping, or that she had chosen to wear a necklace of Butterbeer caps, or that she was reading a magazine upside down. Her eyes ranged over Longbottom and came to rest on Tom. She nodded.

“Thanks,” said Ginny, smiling at her. 

Tom and Longbottom stowed the three trunks and Hedwig’s cage in the luggage rack and sat down. Luna watched them over her upside-down magazine, which was called _The Quibbler _. Tom had never heard of it. She did not seem to need to blink as much as most people did. She stared and stared at Tom, in a way that reminded him of Dumbledore. Despite her lunatic aura, the girl had smart eyes that seemed to be evaluating him, similar to how the old wizard used to. Just in case, he reinforced his Occlumency shields.

“Had a good summer, Luna?” Ginny asked.

“Yes,” said the girl dreamily, without taking her eyes off Tom. “Yes, it was quite enjoyable, you know. You’re Harry Potter,” she added. 

“Indeed. You must be Luna Lovegood. Ginny has talked so much about you,” said Tom, giving her a charming smile. “Only good things, of course.”

Ginny looked surprised at him, but refrained of saying anything. Luna Lovegood kept staring at him, oblivious to any social niceties. 

“You’re not like I imagined you were,” said the curious girl, with a more serious expression.

“Well, I guess the Prophet hasn’t done me any favors lately,” Tom laughed.

“I don’t read the Prophet,” she replied, “I meant that you seem infected by Nargles. Or worst, maybe it’s Bufflers.”

“And what would that be?” asked Tom politely, faking interest.

“Nargles can get inside your head and make it fuzzy,” explained Luna Lovegood. ”If the infestation is severe you can lose touch with reality." Tom smiled at the irony. “But if it’s Bufflers, it’s almost like a ghost possession. They’re evil creatures that give you bad ideas, until you believe them, and they possess your body.”

An uncomfortable silence fell inside the wagon. Ginny seemed nervous very suddenly (bad memories, perhaps) and Longbottom was looking with his mouth wide open at Lovegood. Tom’s smile died in his lips. He watched intently at the girl, wondering if she actually knew... That was impossible. But the unease didn’t disappear because her pale-silvery eyes reminded him of Dumbledore’s blue eyes. The way he felt examined and judged, stripped of his Good Boy mask. Tom had the theory that Dumbledore pretended to be this eccentric lunatic to hide the threat he actually represented. Luna Lovegood looked more genuinely insane, but just as perceptive.

“I’m not familiar with Nargles or Bufflers, I’m afraid. And I assure you that I’m perfectly fine,” said Tom, calmly, smiling again.

“Oh, there’s an article about Nargles in my father’s magazine,” explained Lovegood, pointing the magazine she was reading. “You can read it if you want to.”

The girl offered him the newspaper and Tom accepted it. While he started reading, Longbottom tried to engage in a conversation with Ginny about Quidditch, who seemed distracted and barely listened to him. _ The Quibbler _ended up being the worst magazine that Tom have ever read. There were preposterous articles, which one more delirious than the next one. The article about the Nargles made Tom sure that such creatures didn’t exist. Loony Lovegood seemed as crazy as her nickname implied. 

“And I don’t know who you are,” said Lovegood while she turned her pale eyes upon Longbottom. 

“Sorry, I forgot to present you. Neville Longbottom — Luna Lovegood. Luna, Neville is in my House and is Harry’s room-mate.” explained Ginny to Lovegood, coming out of her distraction.

“Hi.” said Longbottom, shyly.

“And Neville, Luna’s in my year, but in Ravenclaw,” said Ginny.

“Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure,” said Lovegood in a singsong voice.

“Rowena Ravenclaw's most famous quote, isn’t it?” said Tom, casually, while he returned the girl her magazine. 

“And how do you know that?” asked Longbottom, surprised.

“Hermione told me,” explained Tom. He had to reminded himself to be more careful. Potter wasn’t exactly well-read, actually, he was more like an ignorant fool in Tom’s eyes. Tom could never understand why wizards and witches didn’t take full advantage of their education at Hogwarts.

That answer seemed enough for Longbottom and Ginny, but Lovegood kept staring at Tom almost without blinking, and he had the impression that she knew he was lying. And insane notion, of course. Anyway, Tom tried to deflect her attention from himself.

“And how was your summer, Neville?” asked Tom.

“It was okay, I guess. I didn’t go anywhere, thought. But, my birthday was fun. Guess what my great-uncle got me?” said Longbottom.

“No idea. What did he get you?” said Tom, faking interest.

“Let me show you.” said Longbottom with enthusiasm. 

The boy dug the hand that was not keeping a firm grip on his toad into his schoolbag and after a little bit of rummaging pulled out what appeared to be a small grey cactus in a pot, except that it was covered with what looked like boils rather than spines. 

“_Mimbulus mimbletonia_,” Longbottom said proudly.

It was the most boring gift Tom had ever heard of. 

“Is it rare?” asked Tom, still faking interest and pretending he didn’t know what the plant was. Being Potter was exhausting. 

“Yes, it’s really, really rare,” answered Longbottom, beaming. “I don’t know if there’s one in the greenhouse at Hogwarts, even. I can’t wait to show it to Professor Sprout. My great-uncle Algie got it for me in Assyria. I’m going to see if I can breed from it.”

Tom nodded without knowing how to continue the dreadful conversation. At least the conversation had accomplished its objective, since Lovegood was looking at the plant and not him.

“I don’t get it. Does it do anything?” asked Ginny, looking at the plant like she didn’t understand what someone would want with it.

“Loads of stuff!” said Longbottom proudly. “It’s got an amazing defensive mechanism — hold Trevor for me...” He dumped the toad into Tom’s lap and took a quill from his schoolbag. The boy held the Mimbulus mimbletonia up to his eyes, his tongue between his teeth, chose his spot, and almost gave the plant a sharp prod with the tip of his quill when Tom stopped him with his hand. Longbottom looked puzzled at him.

“Neville, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Tom calmly, “I just remember reading about this plant and if attacked it will release Stinksap. I don’t think we need a public demonstration.” 

Tom was not going to let Longbottom get him dirty with Stinksap, the dark-green and stinking liquid that came from the plant. Tom hated being untidy. Personal appearance was important, after all.

“Oh, you’re right, Harry,” said Longbottom nervously. “Sorry about that.”

“Since when do you read about anything that isn’t Quidditch, Harry?” Ginny joked.

Before Tom could respond to that, their compartment slid open. A girl with long, shiny black hair was standing in the doorway smiling at him. Tom took a moment until he remembered who it was. Cho Chang, the Seeker on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team and Potter’s love interest.

“Um… Hi, Harry. I just thought I’d say hello and see how are you,” said Chang, becoming rather pink in the face. Tom didn’t have a bit of morality in his soul, but he thought that it was quite low from Chang to come to flirt with Potter, the boy who saw her late boyfriend die, just after two months of the fact. Well, Tom admitted he wasn’t one to judge her for it.

“Hi, Cho. I’m fine, thank you. Want to sit with us?” said Tom, thinking that was what Potter would do. He had been saved from answering Ginny’s question by Chang. He had to be more careful and act like Potter would.

“Uh… sure,” said Chang hastily, entering the compartment. Out of the corner of his eye, Tom saw that Ginny seemed more tense than before. So not over Potter, apparently.

“Sit with us,” offered Ginny to Chang, coming closer to Lovegood in order to make space. Tom suppressed a mocking smile; the Weasley girl was obviously trying to avoid that Chang sat next to him.

“I don’t know if you know each other,” said Tom, pretending to be oblivious to the situation. Potter probably would be anyway. “Cho, this is Ginny Weasley. Ginny, she’s Cho Chang.”

“I know who she is,” said Ginny, in what was an almost neutral tone. “You’re in Ravenclaw. The Seeker, right?”

“Yeah, I am. And you’re the youngest of the Weasleys if I’m not wrong?” said Chang.

Ginny nodded and gave a forced smile. 

“And Cho, they are Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom,” continued Tom.

“We know each other,” said Lovegood, dreamily. “Cho is one of the few that doesn’t call me Loony in our House.”

There was an uncomfortable silence after that. 

“Nice to meet you,” said Longbottom shyly.

Chang smiled politely.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt anything before,” said Chang.

“Not at all,” said Tom, smiling to her. Chang avoided his eyes nervously. Tom was pleased to know that his charm still worked in a less handsome body. ”We were just talking about Neville’s gift."

And Longbottom talked about his boring plant again but without any unnecessary demonstrations. Later, the conversation turned to Quidditch, and everyone talked about it. Except Lovegood, who kept quiet and didn’t stop staring at Tom, making him alert. He made an effort pretending to be enthusiastic about Quidditch, feeling that Lovegood paid attention to every word that came from his mouth. The girl was an apparent lunatic, but Tom had enough experience with Dumbledore to know to never underestimate anyone based on their eccentricity. 

When the food trolley witch came, it was a relief. Tom was in a bad mood. As Tom Riddle, at some point in the trip he could have got a good book to read and none of his classmates would have batted an eyelash. But as Harry Potter, Tom had to talk about Quidditch and other dull topics for hours. He even had to select his food accordingly, to not raise suspicion. He bought Chocolate Frogs and Pumpkin Pasties only because Potter always did, but he indulged himself with some bitter chocolate and a Sugar Quill, both of his favorites. Lovegood was the one that bought the most sweets, and kept making very demonstrative sounds every time she ate Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, and it was unclear to her listeners whether she liked or disliked each flavour. 

When everyone had finished eating, and they were busy swapping Chocolate Frog Cards (an activity that Tom had always found rather dull), the compartment door slid open and Weasley and Granger walked in, accompanied by Crookshanks and a shrilly hooting Pigwidgeon in his cage. Tom was not happy to have more company, but maybe Granger would provide a more interesting conversation than there was until now.

“I’m starving,” said Ron, stowing Pigwidgeon next to Hedwig, grabbing a Chocolate Frog from Tom and throwing himself into the seat next to him. Tom contained the need to throw a hex to Weasley. The boy ripped open the wrapper, bit off the Frog’s head, and leaned back with his eyes closed as though he had had a very exhausting morning. Granger came to sit next to the other side of Chang. 

“Granger, Weasley,” said Chang. “Harry invited me to sit with you. I hope you don’t mind.”

Weasley made a weak nod and kept his eyes closed.

“Don’t worry. Of course, we don’t mind,” said Granger, who also looked tired.

“You’re prefects?” asked Chang surprised, looking at their badges. She throw Tom a glance, probably wondering like everyone else why Weasley and not him.

“Yeah, Dumbledore picked us,” said Weasley proudly, his fatigue forgotten. 

“Oh, great,” said Chang. “Did you met the Ravenclaw’s prefects from this year? I still don’t know who they picked.”

“They’re Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil,” answered Granger.

“It makes sense, they were said to be favourites,” said Chang.

“You went to the Yule Ball with Padma Patil,” said a vague voice.

Everyone turned to look at Luna Lovegood, who was gazing unblinkingly at Weasley. He swallowed his mouthful of Frog. 

“Yeah, I know I did,” he said, looking mildly surprised.

“She didn’t enjoy it very much,” Lovegood informed him. “She doesn’t think you treated her very well, because you wouldn’t dance with her. I don’t think I’d have minded,” she added thoughtfully, “I don’t like dancing very much.”

She retreated behind _The Quibbler. _Weasley stared at the cover with his mouth hanging open for a few seconds, then looked around at his sister for some kind of explanation, but Ginny had stuffed her knuckles in her mouth to stop herself giggling. 

The conversation then turned to the prefect subject. Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott were Hufflepuff’s Prefects. And to the indignation of both Weasleys, Draco Malfoy was Slytherin’s. And the other one was…

“That complete cow Pansy Parkinson,” said Granger viciously. “How she got to be a prefect when she’s thicker than a concussed troll...”

Tom looked at her amused. It was rare that Granger insulted anyone and admitted out loud that other people were inferior. 

“Parkinson? The one that’s dating Malfoy?” asked Chang. 

“The same one,” said Granger, who looked embarrassed about her outburst in front of Chang since she didn't know her well.

The rest of the trip was mostly unremarkable. At some point Draco Malfoy and his thugs came to taunt him and the other Gryffindors. Tom imagined what Abraxas would think about his grandson’s behaviour. Draco Malfoy was nothing but a spoiled child, who wasted his time with ridiculous school rivalries. He even hinted to have information about Black’s Animagus form and having recognized him in the platform, using the word _ dogging _ in a very obvious way. It was a very brainless move, because the smart thing would be to keep quiet about it in front of his enemies and simply inform his father. From the look Granger threw at him, Tom was sure that the girl got the double meaning, but Weasley seemed unaware of the situation.

At last the train began to slow down, and they heard the usual racket up and down it as everybody scrambled to get their luggage and pets assembled, ready for departure. As prefects, Weasley and Granger were supposed to supervise all this; they disappeared from the carriage again, leaving Tom and the others to look after Crookshanks and Pigwidgeon. They shuffled out of the compartment feeling the first sting of the night air on their faces as they joined the crowd in the corridor. Slowly they moved toward the doors. Tom could smell the pine trees that lined the path down to the lake. 

He observed that Chang was still with them. Tom had expected her to go at some point during the trip, back to her friends. Searching in Potter’s memories, which had lots of glimpses of Chang, the girl was very popular. She was always surrounded by friends, almost never alone. But now those friends shone by their absence. Chang had seemed fine enough during the trip, but now standing alone in the platform, she didn’t seem to know what to do with herself... A girl with reddish-blond hair came to leave Chang’s belongings to her. They spoke something in hushed tones and then the girl gave her a reassuring squeeze in the shoulder and went back to a group of Ravenclaws. Nobody else from Ravenclaw came talking to Chang.

“I hope you don’t mind if I go with you in the coaches,” said Chang to him, Longbottom, Lovegood and Ginny, without meeting any of their eyes.

“Of course not,” said Tom, smiling in a way that was supposed to be reassuring. “We are just waiting for Hermione and Ron.”

Chang nodded and smiled back at Tom, but her smile was visibly forced. 

After guiding some younger years, Granger and Weasley came back to them. The seven entered the same carriage, that was guided by two Teastrals. 

“Did everyone see that Grubbly-Plank woman?” asked Ginny. “What’s she doing back here? Hagrid can’t have left, can he?” 

To be honest, Tom hadn’t noticed the half-breed absence. 

“I’ll be quite glad if he has,” said Lovegood. “He isn’t a very good teacher, is he?” 

“Yes, he is!” said both Weasleys angrily. 

Tom refrained from commenting. Rubeus Hagrid a teacher? He had met the giant directly, and he was sure that he wasn’t qualified. It was just another proof of Dumbledore’s favouritism. What a joke.

“Well, we think he’s a bit of a joke in Ravenclaw,” said Lovegood, unfazed, saying out loud the words that Tom was thinking.

“You’ve got a rubbish sense of humor then,” Weasley snapped, as the wheels below them creaked into motion. Lovegood did not seem perturbed by his rudeness; on the contrary, she simply watched him for a while with mild interest. 

Rattling and swaying, the carriages moved in convoy up the road. Hogwarts Castle, loomed ever closer: a towering mass of turrets, jet-black against the dark sky, here and there a window blazing fiery bright above them. Tom felt wellness. He was finally at home. After all, Hogwarts was the only home he ever had known. And if there was one good thing about being Potter, was that he would get one year more at Hogwarts.


	11. The start-of-term feast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I'm sorry that I was away for so long, but I been living in surreal times. My country situation is still bad, human rights are still violated by the police. In fact, Amnesty International did their report recently and said there's a deliberate policy of the goverment and security forces to injure protesters (I live here and yes, it's true). So I had a hard time concentrating on anything since every day something new happens. On the other hand, I'm hopeful because the protests are having an effect, and people are forming assemblies in their neighborhoods to organize. There's a lot happening here, but I don't want to bore anyone with the details. You can ask me questions in the comments if you want to know more.  
IMPORTANT: About this chapter, I apologize to any hardcore Harry Potter fans who know every word and remember every detail from the books. It's not because I'm lazy but I need Tom to know things that he doesn't until this point, so I couldn't skip this. This chapter is taken almost straight from Harry and the Order of the Phoenix, but i strongly suggest you to READ IT because there are a differences. Tomish perspective on everything, of course, and interaction from Tom and Hermione. And I tried to delete/summarize anything unnecesary. I posted another chapter to make up for that.

The entrance hall was ablaze with torches and echoing with footsteps as the students crossed the flagged stone floor for the double doors to the right, leading to the Great Hall and the start-of-term feast. The four long House tables in the Great Hall were filling up under the starless black ceiling, which was just like the sky they could glimpse through the high windows. Candles floated in midair all along the tables, illuminating the silvery ghosts who were dotted about the Hall and the faces of the students talking eagerly to one another, exchanging summer news, shouting greetings at friends from other Houses, eyeing one another’s new haircuts and robes. Again Tom noticed people putting their heads together to whisper as he passed; the perks of being Potter. Tom ignored the stares and reminded himself that they were not actually directed at him.

Lovegood and Chang drifted away from them at the Ravenclaw table. Chang gave Tom a brief smile as a goodbye. The moment they reached Gryffindor’s, Ginny was hailed by some fellow fourth years and left to sit with them; Tom, Granger, Weasley and Longbottom found seats together about halfway down the table between Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor House ghost, and Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, the last two of whom gave Tom airy, overly friendly greetings that made him quite sure they had stopped talking about him a split second before. Apparently subtlety wasn’t their style. Or any Gryffindor’s style, for that matter.

Tom stared at the staff table first, his eyes immediately resting on the headmaster. Dumbledore was sitting in his high-backed golden chair at the center of the long staff table, wearing deep-purple robes scattered with silvery stars and a matching hat. Tom had always hated the man’s style. Dumbledore had everything in him to project a respectable image, but instead, he dressed like a Muggle caricature of a wizard. 

Dumbledore’s head was inclined toward a woman sitting next to him, who was talking into his ear. Tom didn’t recognize her. She was squat, with short, curly, mouse-brown hair in which she had placed a horrible pink band that matched the fluffy pink cardigan she wore over her robes. Next to her, even Dumbledore seemed properly dressed. Then she turned her face slightly to take a sip from her goblet, and Tom saw that her face wasn’t any better, she had a toadlike face and a pair of prominent, pouchy eyes. The only possible reason she could have to be there was to fill the position in Defence Against the Dark Arts, thought Tom. He hoped her classes were not as bad as most of Potter’s classes in the subject were before. To be honest, Tom didn’t agree with his Older Self decision of cursing that post. He was younger, but he thought that it was a petty thing to do that was clearly beneath him.

The woman searched with her eyes around the Great Hall, until her gaze came to rest in Tom and her lips made a weird smile. Through Legilimency, Tom felt her strong hatred towards him (or for Potter, actually), but before he could dig more, the woman drifted her eyes. 

“Who’s that?” Granger said sharply, pointing toward the middle of the staff table, apparently thinking the same as Tom.

“Probably our next Defence teacher,” Tom said.

“Nice cardigan,” Weasley said, smirking.

“No, I mean, who is she?” said Granger, looking appraisingly at the woman.

“Who knows,” said Weasley, nonchalant.

Tom wanted to know more about the woman, but she didn’t look at him again, so he kept looking at the staff table, evaluating the other teachers. At that moment, Professor Grubbly-Plank just appeared behind the staff table; she worked her way along to the very end and took the seat that ought to have been Rubeus Hagrid’s. 

“Hagrid’s still not here,” observed Weasley, anxiously. “He can’t have left, right?”

“You don’t think he’s... hurt, or anything, do you?” said Granger uneasily.

“Why would he be hurt?” asked Tom, not understanding their worry. The half-giant probably had a cold or something.

Before Granger could respond, the doors from the entrance hall opened. A long line of scared-looking first years entered, led by Professor McGonagall, who was carrying a stool on which sat an ancient wizard’s hat, heavily patched and darned with a wide rip near the frayed brim. Tom savoured the familiarity of the ritual; he didn’t care about the Sorting of the first years, but it was a typical part of Hogwarts life and it made him feel at ease.

The whole school waited with bated breath. Then the rip near the hat’s brim opened wide like a mouth and the Sorting Hat burst into song. But it wasn’t one of the usual songs. The Sorting Hat usually confined itself to describing the different qualities looked for by each of the four Hogwarts Houses and its own role in sorting them; only in difficult times the Hat gave advice to the school as now. So apparently, the return of his Source had reached its knowledge. Tom remembered in his time the warnings of the hat about “external forces” that could reach the school if they were not careful. That time it referred to Grindelwald’s rising of course, but also the Muggle War...

“Branched out a bit this year, hasn’t it?” said Weasley, his eyebrows raised. 

Tom made a non-committal noise.

“I wonder if it’s ever given warnings before?” said Granger, sounding slightly anxious. 

“Yes, indeed,” said Nearly Headless Nick knowledgeably, leaning across Longbottom toward her, while the boy winced. “The hat feels itself honor-bound to give the school due warning whenever it feels —” 

But Professor McGonagall, who was waiting to read out the list of first years’ names, was giving the whispering students the sort of look that scorches. Nearly Headless Nick placed a see-through finger to his lips and sat primly upright again as the muttering came to an abrupt end. With a last frowning look that swept the four House tables, Professor McGonagall lowered her eyes to her long piece of parchment and called out the names. Tom clapped along with the rest of Gryffindor every time someone was sorted there. When the last name was called, Professor McGonagall picked up the hat and stool and marched them away as Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet. 

“To our newcomers,” said Dumbledore in a ringing voice, his arms stretched wide and a beaming smile on his lips, “welcome! To our old hands — welcome back! There is a time for speech making, but this is not it. Tuck in!” 

There was an appreciative laugh and an outbreak of applause as Dumbledore sat down neatly and threw his long beard over his shoulder so as to keep it out of the way of his plate. Tom listened with distaste the popularity of the headmaster. Well, most students were fools who believed in Dumbledore’s mask, anyway.

“Excellent,” said Weasley, with a kind of groan of longing, and he seized the nearest plate of chops that just appeared and began piling them onto his plate, watched wistfully by Nearly Headless Nick. Tom tried to move away subtly from Weasley, disgusted by the spectacle he made by eating. 

Weasley and Nearly Headless Nick began to talk, and it was not surprising that Weasley ended up offending the ghost. Granger tried to intervene, but the ghost went to the other side of the table, when Weasley spoke again and didn’t give him a proper apology. 

“Well done, Ron,” snapped Granger. 

“What?” said Weasley indignantly, having managed, finally, to swallow his food. “I’m not allowed to ask a simple question?” 

“Oh forget it,” said Granger irritably.

And both of them proceed to ignore each other. Tom felt mildly amused, considering if breaking that friendship (task that seemed easy enough) would give him any benefits. Tom waited until Granger was calmer to ask her something.

“Hermione...” said Tom, and the girl snapped her head, still looking a bit angry.

“What?” she asked sharply.

“About Hagrid, you said you thought he was hurt. Why is that?”

Granger calmed immediately.

“Oh right, about that -- there’s something we forgot to tell you, Harry,” said Granger. 

The girl looked around at table like she didn’t want anyone to listen to their conversation. Tom interest was piqued. Most of the Gryffindors were to busy eating to pay attention to anyone’s conversation. Granger came closer to him, putting her lips near his ear and started speaking in whispers.

“At the end of last year, Ron and I went to visit Hagrid while you were at the hospital. He told us that Dumbledore gave him a mission, but he didn’t want to tell us what it was about.” Granger words came along her warm breath in Tom’s ear and neck. “The only thing he said was that he was going with Madam Maxine, you remember, the headmistress of Beauxbatons…”

Tom nodded feeling slightly distracted. He supposed it was normal. Granger was a pretty girl that was in proximity and Potter’s body was that of a normal teenage boy. Tom was sure that inside his own body he wouldn’t feel anything. Harry Potter was weak, but not him.

He took a moment to think of Granger’s words. He considered everything Potter knew about Madam Maxine. A mission that included two half-giants? The kind of mission that it was, was very easy to guess. He understood now why Granger was worried about Hagrid’s well-being.

“Maybe he’s still on his mission and that’s why he isn’t here,” said Tom in her ear, observing with irritation that the gesture didn’t seem to have any effect on the girl.

“Or maybe he’s hurt and inside his cabin,” said Granger, looking worried. “We have to visit him as soon as we can.”

Tom nodded and decided to end the conversation. He was not Ronald Weasley, but being raised in an orphanage, he could appreciate good food. He loved the star-of-term feast because it was the most abundant. And the interaction with Granger had disturbed him a bit, and he didn't want to focus too much on that.

When all the students had finished eating and the noise level in the hall was starting to creep upward again, Dumbledore got to his feet once more. Talking ceased immediately as all turned to face the head-master.

“Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices,” said Dumbledore. “First years ought to know that the forest in the grounds is out of bounds to students — and a few of our older students ought to know by now too. Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four hundred and sixty-second time, to remind you all that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, nor are a number of other things, all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr. Filch’s office door. We have had two changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.” 

There was a round of polite but fairly unenthusiastic applause during which Weasley and Granger exchanged slightly panicked looks; Dumbledore had not said for how long Grubbly-Plank would be teaching. 

Dumbledore continued, “Tryouts for the House Quidditch teams will take place on the —” 

He broke off, looking inquiringly at Professor Umbridge. As she was not much taller standing than sitting, there was a moment when nobody understood why Dumbledore had stopped talking, but then Professor Umbridge said, “Hem, hem,” and it became clear that she had got to her feet and was intending to make a speech. 

Dumbledore only looked taken aback for a moment, then he sat back down smartly and looked alertly at Professor Umbridge as though he desired nothing better than to listen to her talk. Dumbledore, always so polite, thought Tom dismissively. Other members of staff were not as adept at hiding their surprise. Many of the students were smirking, probably thinking that the new teacher didn’t understand how things worked at Hogwarts.

“Thank you, Headmaster,” Professor Umbridge simpered, “for those kind words of welcome.” 

She gave another little throat-clearing cough (“Hem, hem”) and continued: “Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say!” 

She smiled, revealing very pointed teeth. “And to see such happy little faces looking back at me! I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all, and I’m sure we’ll be very good friends!” Students exchanged looks at this; some of them were barely concealing grins. The woman was treating them all as if they were five years old.

Professor Umbridge cleared her throat again (“Hem, hem”), but when she continued, some of the breathiness had vanished from her voice. She sounded much more businesslike and now her words had a dull learned-by-heart sound to them.

“The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance…”

At those words, Tom’s attention was immediately captured. If the woman came from the Ministry of Magic she wasn’t selected by Dumbledore, and she was probably placed by the Ministry itself. The rest of the speech was done in the tone a politician would use, expressions that meant nothing and that diverted the attention of the masses. It worked; the Great Hall started to fill with noise again, students whispering and giggling between them, without paying any attention to what they thought was only a boring speech. Tom thought that they were all fools, who couldn’t understand that important information was being said. The subtext of the speech was clear; the Ministry of Magic would interfere at Hogwarts. The teachers, whoever, were all listening very attentively, and Granger was one of the few students who paid attention to it, and judging by her expression of distaste, she understood exactly what was being said.

The woman finished her speech and sat down. Dumbledore clapped. The staff followed his lead, though without any enthusiasm. In fact, Severus Snape was not clapping at all and was looking at the new professor without hiding a murderous look. A few students joined in, but most had been taken unawares by the end of the speech, not having listened to more than a few words of it, and before they could start applauding properly, Dumbledore had stood up again. 

“Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating,” he said, bowing to her. “Now — as I was saying, Quidditch tryouts will be held...” 

“Yes, it certainly was illuminating,” said Granger in a low voice. Tom nodded.

“You’re not telling me you enjoyed it?” Weasley said quietly, turning a glazed face upon Granger and looking surprised that Tom agreed with her. “That was about the dullest speech I’ve ever heard, and I grew up with Percy.” 

“I said illuminating, not enjoyable,” said Granger. “It explained a lot.” 

“It did?” asked Weasley, looking disbelieving between Tom and Granger.

“Yes, Ron,” said Tom, containing his exasperation. “Think for a moment. She made a speech in the name of the Ministry. They have sent her.”

“Exactly! Did you hear about ‘progress for progress’s sake must be discouraged’? Or about ‘pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited’?” said Granger, with seriousness.

“Well, what does that mean?” said Weasley impatiently. 

Tom could not understand how someone could be so obtuse.

“I’ll tell you what it means,” said Granger ominously. “It means the Ministry’s interfering at Hogwarts.”

“Yes, and the worst part is that she hasn’t specified how,” said Tom, frowning.

Tom wasn’t sure how to feel about the situation. On one hand, it benefited him, because it meant that the Ministry was taking a more aggressive stance against Dumbledore and discrediting any rumors regarding his Source’s return. But on the other hand, it meant that Umbridge would probably keep an eye on Harry Potter and that would make his movements more restricted. Tom didn’t like the idea of someone from the Ministry spying on him. 

He decided to keep an eye on Umbridge. The Ministry of Magic would always be his enemy.


	12. A day in the life of Hermione Granger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hermione's POV! Another character perspective! Time to remember that Tom Riddle tends to twist things to match his points of view. So a little reminder to all my readers that his opinions on other characters and situations are not necesarily an absolute truth. And that Tom lies.

The first day of the term. Another year at Hogwarts. Hermione had woken up already. She felt eager to start the classes and learn more. She took a shower and dressed quickly.

Hermione was in the middle of making her bed when her roommates came from the bathroom.

“Good morning” Hermione said to them.

Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil answered cordially to her. They weren’t friends, just roommates, but after four years of sharing the same quarters, there was a familiarity about their relationship. They usually got outside their room first, because Hermione was the only one who made her own bed. She started doing that in fourth year, when she found out it wasn’t magic doing it, but actually house-elves under slave labour. But this time Lavender and Parvati were still there, apparently waiting for something. Hermione stopped what she was doing and eyed them, seeing that they were looking at her awkwardly.

“Do you want to ask me something?” Hermione asked.

They both exchange looks with each other. Parvati cleared her throat.

“It’s just that we were wondering… Could you tell us what happened at the end of the Tournament last year?” Parvati said carefully.

Hermione sighed. She should have expected something like this.  
“Look, Dumbledore already said what happened at the end of the term. Isn’t that enough?” Hermione answered calmly.

“No, it isn’t,” Lavender said quickly. “Dumbledore didn’t say exactly how it happened. Cedric died and Harry was the only witness. You’re one of his best friends. He obviously told you everything!”

Hermione bit her lip, for once without knowing how to answer. Actually no, Harry hadn’t told her a thing. It was Sirius the one that gave an account of the events in the cemetery to her and Ron during the summer. She had been patient, waiting for Harry to open up eventually and tell them everything, but so far he hadn’t and Hermione was starting to think that maybe he never would. Harry had been so distant lately… And Hermione was very worried about him.

“Look, it’s not my story to tell. If Harry wants to tell other people, he’s the one who has to do it. And secondly, what more do you need to know? Dumbledore said it! Cedric was killed by You-Know-Who.” Hermione said authoritatively, after a moment of silence.

“But that’s not what the Ministry is saying! Or the Prophet!” Lavender insisted.

“Because they are afraid! They don’t want to admit that You-Know-Who is back, because if he did, it would mean they would have to fight him, and they are too scared! It’s easier to think that is a lie and that everything’s fine.” Hermione said loudly.

“But Hermione, we are not saying we don’t believe Harry.” Parvati explained in a conciliatory tone. “It’s just that if he said the truth he should tell us all more, so we can be safe…”

  
“Speak for yourself, Parv,” Lavender lashed out. “I don’t believe a thing. We are supposed to believe our Headmaster, who we know is a little crazy, and Harry, who always likes to seek attention, over the Ministry? I don’t think so. ”

  
Hermione felt furious.  
“Harry doesn’t seek any attention! He hates it, actually! And Dumbledore is an extraordinary wizard, and he is not mad, he is a genius! Harry doesn’t own explanations to anyone, he went through something awful, and he doesn’t have to describe it in detail to anyone who asks! A student died in strange circumstances and you believe the ridiculous Ministry version? You will bet your own life to their ridiculous lies? You know what? Believe what you want, but you can not say later that I didn’t warn you!!” Hermione cried out. ”Just keep your big fat mouth shut about Harry!”

  
And without any more words, she left, leaving Lavender with her mouth wide open and Parvati taken aback. Hermione left the dormitory and went where Harry and Ron were. They all headed towards breakfast. Hermione tried to look composed.

“So you two had a good night of sleep?” Hermione asked after she had calmed down.

The boys nodded, but Hermione noticed that Ron looked weirdly at Harry like he didn’t believe it.

“Did something happened, Ron?” The girl said.

Ron stopped looking at Harry.

“Seamus reckons Harry’s lying about You-Know-Who,” said Ron succinctly.

Hermione sighed. Harry’s expression remained perfectly neutral.

“Yes, Lavender thinks so too,” she said gloomily.

They both looked at Harry, waiting for his response. Harry sighed.

“Look, I hate this situation, but there’s nothing I can do about it. So I think it’s better if we just stop talking about it.” Harry said, with a convincing look of sadness.

“Ok, Harry. If you think it’s better.” Hermione conceded. She hated how lately Harry seemed to avoid talking about certain topics when before he would show his feelings more openly. But it was perfectly normal, considering the circumstances, she admitted. She would worry about that later.

They went into the Great Hall, and instinctively Hermione looked at the staff table. Hagrid still wasn’t there. Instead, Professor Grubbly-Plank was chatting to Professor Sinistra. Hermione kept looking when they made their way across the Gryffindor table, thinking. Dumbledore never said when Hagrid was going to come back… Maybe he didn’t want to draw attention to the fact? Was Hagrid still on his mission for the Order?

They were in the middle of breakfast, when Angelina Johnson, another Gryffindor came to them. She was older and was in the Quidditch team.

“Hi, Harry. Good summer?” Angelina asked briskly.

“Hello, Angelina. Mine was fine. Yours?” Harry said politely.

“Yeah, fine.” she said quickly. “Listen, I’ve been made Gryffindor Quidditch Captain.”

Harry gave her a charming smile that Hermione was not used to see in his face.  
“Well, of course. You were the obvious choice. Who could be more appropriate for Captain than you?” Harry said smoothly.

Angelina smiled broadly. Hermione had noticed that lately Harry’s social skills had seemed to improve dramatically.

“Thanks, Harry. I hope I don’t disappoint,” the girl said, still smiling. “Anyway, we need a new Keeper now Oliver’s left. Tryouts are on Friday at five o’clock and I want the whole team there, all right? Then we can see how the new person’ll fit in. What do you think?”

“Sounds wonderful,” said Harry.

“See you then.”

Angelina nodded to him and departed. Hermione looked discreetly at Harry. She supposed that he had maturated during the summer, so now the usual awkward boy seemed to have gained some confidence. That was good, she supposed.

* * *

History of Magic was their first lesson. None of their classmates were paying any attention to class, as usual. Hermione had to admit that Professor Binns was a boring teacher and that he didn’t have the most didactic methodology, and that being a ghost and all, he probably wasn’t going to change it any time soon, but she didn’t understand why nobody even tried. Lavender was doing a makeup charm on herself, while Pavarti did her hair in a braid. Seamus and Dean were talking quietly between them at the back. Neville was sleeping with his mouth slightly open. Ron was looking absently around, with a bored expression. But to Hermione’s surprise, when she looked, Harry was writing down in his parchment and paying attention to Binns. It was such a surprising view, that for a few minutes she stared and forgot to pay attention herself, not believing her eyes.

“Something wrong?” Harry asked her, without even looking directly at her.

“N-o, no. Of course not.” Hermione said quickly, feeling caught. If Harry was finally taking notes in History, she wasn’t going to be the one to ruin it.

“You’re wondering why I’m paying attention to Binns?” Harry guessed, and without waiting for an answer, he looked at her, “I told you, Hermione, this year we take our O.W.L's. So I will take my studies more seriously from now on.”

And he gave her a smile that Hermione couldn’t help to respond.

“I’m glad you’re serious about this, Harry.” Hermione said sincerely. “Fifth year is very important for our future.”

Ron who had been listening their conversation frowning, opened his mouth to retort, but Hermione gave him a warning look, and he stayed quiet. She wasn’t going to let Ron persuade Harry otherwise. He had finally understood the importance of school, and who knew how fragile that resolution really was.

* * *

In the way to their Potions class, they met Cho in the hallway. The girl was clearly nervous when she greeted Harry. But surprisingly, Harry was very composed and calm about it. Hermione remembered how he had struggled in the Yule Ball the year before when he wanted to invite Cho to the dance. But now Harry was the perfect picture of confidence and charm. He even prevented Ron to further comment on Cho’s favourite Quidditch team (something about being a loyal follower or only an opportunist who followed them now when the team was winning the season), by asking about it himself with great interest. Cho seemed flattered. But quickly, Harry sent her off, telling her they were late for Potions. Something that wasn’t true. If Harry really wanted it, he could have chatted with her for a few more minutes. Hermione didn’t comment on it. Perhaps Harry’s confidence wasn’t as strong as it appeared, and he was actually nervous.

At Potions, Snape told them to mix the Draught of Peace, a potion that usually came up at the O.W.L. exam. It was extremely difficult task for the first class of the year, but Hermione had loved the challenge, and for most of the class, her focus was on her potion. At the end, she was satisfied with it and proud with herself. The surface of her potion was a shimmering mist of silver vapour, the ideal result, and as Snape swept by he looked down his hooked nose at it without comment, which meant that he could find nothing to criticize. She had long ago made her peace with the fact that Snape wouldn’t give her any House-points just because she was a Gryffindor. She learned to took his silence as a praise for her work.

Hermione looked at her friends and wasn’t surprised when she saw that Ron’s potion was spitting green sparks. Snape made a cruel remark at it. On the other hand, it seemed it was Harry’s lucky day. His potion was not perfect, by any means, the vapor that came from the cauldron was grey and not silver, and the texture wasn’t right, but it was a close result. Not good for someone like her, but it was ok for Harry. But she saw a fleeting expression in his face. He had seemed angry or upset when he looked at his final result, and she didn’t understand why. He had done a good job. But quickly, his expression became neutral again. Snape came to Harry’s cauldron and looked down. Hermione saw clearly that their professor was displeased with Harry’s job, probably not because it was bad, but because he didn’t have an excuse to mock him in front of the class. Snape was petty like that. Especially when it came to Harry.

“Well, Potter, it seems that despite your usual inability to follow instructions, you got lucky this time. If you knew what you are actually doing, then tell me, what step you did wrong?” Snape asked, clearly trying to catch him and prove that it was simply luck. Some Slytherins in the front row snickered. Hermione felt furious. Harry had a good result and Snape still tried to taunt him making it appear as luck?  
Harry stayed silent a few seconds, apparently debating what to answer. Hermione bit her lip. She guessed what step he had done wrong by the colour of the vapour, but Harry obviously didn’t know. It was why it was a mistake in the first place.

“I’m not sure, sir,” Harry said slowly. Hermione guessed he was being polite as a way of outsmarting Snape.

Snape eyes were glittering in triumph, he opened his mouth to make a retort---

“But maybe I didn’t stir the potion enough times before or after adding the powdered moonstone,” Harry observed calmly, like the thought just occurred to him.

There was silence. Snape pursed his lips. Hermione knew that it was a good conjecture. Actually it was before adding that ingredient, to be more precise. She was impressed that Harry had guessed.

“It was before, Potter. So, and this is for everyone, I don’t want any more guessing in my class. You have to know what you are brewing...” Snape said stiffly. Hermione repressed a smile, she was glad that Harry had proved Snape wrong. And then he said brusquely to his students: "Now, fill one flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name, and bring it up to my desk for testing. And for homework: twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making, to be handed in on Thursday. You’re dismissed.”

* * *

After lunch, Hermione separated from Harry and Ron. She went to Arithmancy, her favourite class, while Ron and Harry went to Divination. Hermione was glad she dropped that subject. She never understood why Harry and Ron didn’t quit it.

They were few students in Arithmancy because of Professor Vector’s strict demeanour. Most of the students were Ravenclaws. A few Slytherins. There were only two Hufflepuffs and Hermione was the only Gryffindor. Arithmancy was the closest to a scientific subject at Hogwarts, and it used lots of maths. Hermione was glad for the Muggle education she had before Hogwarts, because most wizards were terrible at maths. She felt that she had an advantage in that class because of being a muggleborn, something she didn’t often felt since she was introduced to the wizarding world.

  
She listened fascinated to Professor Vector explaining to them that they were going to learn how to predict the result a new spell could have, writing complicated math tables at the board. The class went fast and at the end, Hermione had won twenty points for Gryffindor and a rare smile from Professor Vector. She left the class feeling good about it.

And finally, the last class of the day: Defense Against the Dark Arts. Hermione was wary about it. She didn’t like Professor Umbridge’s speech at the feast. The woman came from the Ministry with the clear intention of intruding at Hogwarts. Would she be a spy for the Minister, reporting Dumbledore’s activities to them? Or would she take a more aggressive stance? And how would she treat Harry? He was the one making claims that the Ministry disapproved. Hermione felt very apprehensive about it.

She met Harry, Ron and the rest of her classmates outside. When the students entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom they found Professor Umbridge already seated at the teacher’s desk, wearing the fluffy pink cardigan of the night before and the black velvet bow on top of her head.

“Well, good afternoon!” she said when finally the whole class had sat down.

A few people mumbled “Good afternoon,” in reply.

“Tut, tut,” said Professor Umbridge. “That won’t do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply ‘Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.’ One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!”

“Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,” they chanted back at her.

“There, now,” said Professor Umbridge sweetly. “That wasn’t too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please.”

Hermione furrowed her brow. Why did this woman treat them as if they were little children? She decided she already disliked her. Hermione shoved her wand back inside her bag and pulled out quill, ink, and parchment. Professor Umbridge opened her handbag, extracted her own wand, which was an unusually short one, and tapped the blackboard sharply with it; words appeared on the board at once: Defense Against the Dark Arts A Return to Basic Principles.

“Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn’t it?” stated Professor Umbridge, turning to face the class with her hands clasped neatly in front of her. “The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your O.W.L. year.  
“You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centered, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please.” She rapped the blackboard again; the first message vanished and was replaced by:

Course aims:  
1.Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.  
2.Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used. 3.Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.

Hermione immediately frowned. Where was the practical aspect? She had a bad feeling about this. She raised her hand to ask, but Umbridge ignored her.

Reluctant, she wrote the principles in her parchment. When everyone had copied down Professor Umbridge’s three course aims she said, “Has everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?”

There was a dull murmur of assent throughout the class.

“I think we’ll try that again,” said Professor Umbridge. “When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply ‘Yes, Professor Umbridge,’ or ‘No, Professor Umbridge.’ So, has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?”

“Yes, Professor Umbridge,” rang through the room.

“Good,” said Professor Umbridge. “I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, ‘Basics for Beginners.’ There will be no need to talk.”

At this point, Hermione was decided. She needed to know. So she didn’t make any gesture to open her book, unlike the rest of her classmates and raised her hand again, staring directly at her teacher. The woman looked at every direction except for hers, so Hermione had the nagging feeling that the professor didn’t want to acknowledge her.

A few minutes passed, and the more time it happened, more students were looking at Hermione’s mute intent instead of reading the chapter.

When more than half the class was staring at Hermione rather than at their books, Professor Umbridge seemed to decide that she could ignore the situation no longer.

“Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?” she asked Hermione, as though she had only just noticed her.

“Not about the chapter, no,” said Hermione.

“Well, we’re reading just now,” said Professor Umbridge, showing her small, pointed teeth. “If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class.”  
“I’ve got a query about your course aims,” said Hermione.  
Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows. “And your name is...?”

“Hermione Granger,” said Hermione.

“Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully,” said Professor Umbridge in a voice of determined sweetness.

“Well, I don’t,” said Hermione bluntly. “There’s nothing written up there about using defensive spells.”

There was a short silence in which many members of the class turned their heads to frown at the three course aims still written on the blackboard.

“Using defensive spells?” Professor Umbridge repeated with a little laugh. “Why, I can’t imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren’t expecting to be attacked during class?”

“We’re not going to use magic?” Ron ejaculated loudly.

“Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr. — ?”

“Weasley,” said Ron, thrusting his hand into the air.

Professor Umbridge, smiling still more widely, turned her back on him. Hermione immediately raised their hands too.

“Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?”

“Yes,” said Hermione. “Surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?”

“Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?” asked Professor Umbridge in her falsely sweet voice.

“No, but —”

“Well then, I’m afraid you are not qualified to decide what the ‘whole point’ of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new program of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way.”

“And your name is?” Professor Umbridge said to Dean who was raising his hand.

“Dean Thomas.”

“Well, Mr. Thomas?”

“If we’re going to be attacked, it won’t be risk-free —”, said Dean.

“I repeat,” said Professor Umbridge, smiling in a very irritating fashion at Dean, “do you expect to be attacked during my classes?”

“No, but —”

Professor Umbridge talked over him. “I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school,” she said, an unconvincing smile stretching her wide mouth, making Hermione blood’s boil, “but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed — not to mention,” she gave a nasty little laugh, “extremely dangerous half-breeds.”

“If you mean Professor Lupin,” piped up Dean Thomas angrily, “he was the best we ever —”

“Hand, Mr. Thomas! As I was saying — you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group, and potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day —”

“No we haven’t,” Hermione said, “we just —”

“Your hand is not up, Miss Granger!”

Hermione put up her hand; Professor Umbridge turned away from her.

“It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you —”

“Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn’t he?” said Dean Thomas hotly. “Mind you, we still learned loads —”

“Your hand is not up, Mr. Thomas!” trilled Professor Umbridge. “Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about. And your name is?” she added, staring at Parvati, whose hand had just shot up.

“Parvati Patil, and isn’t there a practical bit in our Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.? Aren’t we supposed to show that we can actually do the countercurses and things?”

“As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions,” said Professor Umbridge dismissively.

“Without ever practising them before?” said Parvati incredulously. “Are you telling us that the first time we’ll get to do the spells will be during our exam?”

“I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough, it will be enough to perform the spells. Ministry experts had studied it. ” The woman answered with a smile.

There were students whispering between them after that, but nobody raised their hands again. Hermione couldn’t believe it. Professor Umbridge didn’t want to teach them anything. The Ministry didn’t want them learning of the subject. And nobody seemed to know what to say any more. She saw that the woman was staring discreetly at Harry, who was just looking at the teacher calmly, and had not spoken a word. Hermione had the suspicion that Professor Umbridge was expecting him to say something. To be honest, she was too. But he didn’t and no one else try to spoke. Hermione thought that the teacher almost looked disappointed.

“Well, now that we have cleared that up. Open your book and continue to read----” said Professor Umbridge.

Hermione couldn’t help herself.

“Is there any reason the Ministry doesn’t want us to learn proper defensive magic?” Hermione blurted. “Political reasons, perhaps?”

There was a tense silence in the class, Umbridge was looking at her with a false smile on her lips.

“What are you insinuating, Miss Granger?” said Professor Umbridge in a sweet voice.

“Oh, I’m not insinuating anything.” Hermione said softly, trying to respond in equal manner. “I just want to know why the Ministry had this sudden change of mind for the curriculum at the same time they seem to be on poor terms with Professor Dumbledore.”

The woman laughed softly. “You have a very active imagination, Miss Granger. I assure you that the Ministry has nothing against your headmaster.”

“But the Ministry has been saying he’s lying.” Hermione said, trying to remain calm. “About You-Know-Who.”

The woman had stopped smiling.  
“Albus Dumbledore has informed what he believes to be the truth. Unfortunately, there’s not proof of this, only very unreliable sources of information.” At that last words, Professor Umbridge looked directly at Harry for a moment, with a cruel smile on her lips. Hermione felt infuriated. Harry seemed collected and was only staring coldly at the witch. Ron entire face was very red.

Then Umbridge said in a silky voice, faking concern. “We must not be too hard on him, thought. He’s done a great service to the magical community in the past, but age gets to us all. Even a powerful wizard like Dumbledore is bound to start making mistakes of judgment at some point.”

Hermione hated the woman with all her being. The condescending way she talked about Dumbledore was maddening. The nerve. The lies.

“Dumbledore is the greatest wizard of the century.” Hermione blurted out, too irritated to control herself. “You and the Ministry can try to deny it all you want to, but he’s telling the truth and it will come out eventually.”

She felt a lot of gazes on her. Professor Umbridge eyes twinkled dangerously.

“Ten points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger.”

Everyone in the classroom gasped. It was almost unheard-of. Hermione felt her face getting warm.

“What for?” Ron said angrily in her defence.

“For disrupting my class with unwanted opinions. Don’t speak out of turn again, Mr. Weasley, or I will have to take more points from your House.” said Professor Umbridge smoothly. “Now, let me make a few things quite plain. You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead. This is a lie.” Hermione saw that Umbridge said that emphasizing her words while she looked briefly at Harry. The woman was clearly trying to provoke him. “The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend.” The witch said, ending her words with an irritating soft tone.

Hermione looked at Harry, worried that the temper of the boy would finally arise. But Harry seemed to sense her warning, and he gave her a brief nod that she supposed meant he understood the situation. Hermione nodded back. Umbridge was watching their interaction attentively, so Hermione quickly looked away and borrowed her nose in her book.

The rest of the class passed in tense silence, students trying to read the chapter that Umbridge gave them. Hermione had already read it. In fact, Hermione had already read the entire book, and she had some disagreements with the author, but it probably wasn’t appropriate to mention it to Professor Umbridge now, who had already taken ten points from Gryffindor. Maybe next class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #chileviolateshumanrights  
#chileprotests  
#ChileDespertó


	13. The diadem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I'm back! I apologize for the delay. I was busy, but I promise I'm not leaving the story. Be patient with me. please. This chapter is from Tom's POV, but the others will be from Hermione's POV instead. Time to give her the spotlight!
> 
> My country situation? Still shitty. I rather not talk about the depressive subject this time. But if you want to have a good laugh, my goverment claims there's foreign intervention from the outside and they made a report (Big Data is called, it's information from social media) to corroborate that thesis. And guess what! K-Pop fans are supposed to be part of the profile of people who protest. So apparently K-Pop is considered a foreign influence. You should know that if you listen to K-Pop you're a potential revolutionary! (I know, the people who rules us are ridiculous).

The first day of class was a dreadful. Tom realized that having to do Fifth Year again wasn’t something he particularly enjoyed. When Tom attended Hogwarts before, he was already miles ahead of the curriculum, but now it was even worse. He knew everything already.

Tom’s first class of the day was History of Magic. Incredibly, Professor Binns was still teaching it. He had been alive during Tom’s time, and he was just as uninspired as Tom remembered. The only reason Tom assumed Dumbledore had to keep such a horrid Professor in his post, was if a magical Unbreakable Contract was at play. Tom supposed Armando Dippet had been stupid enough to sign one. An Unbreakable Contract prevented the firing of one’s job for the rest of that person’s existence. And apparently not even death could break the contract, if Professor Binns presence was anything to go by. It was a sad future for Hogwarts, Tom thought, to have a position hold forever by an incapable teacher. If Tom had the time or the interest, he supposed he could find a way to get rid of Binns. But Tom had more pressing matters to attend. 

It was only out of habit that Tom took notes in History. Too late, he realized his mistake when Granger kept looking at him. Potter, like the rest of his classmates, never paid attention in that particular class. Tom convinced Granger that he was just taking his studies more seriously because of his O.W.L.s and the girl believed him. As Tom had learned, the secret to maintain a false persona was to always be quick with the lies.

Later came Potions. Tom didn’t care if Snape disliked him or not (or Potter, to be more accurate), but he hated to be addressed in such a disrespectful manner. In other circumstances, he would have dealt with Snape privately but there were too many things at play to risk exposing himself by cursing the Potions teacher. So Tom endured the class. But the worst wasn’t Snape, but that there wasn’t any possibility that Potter was good at that class. Or that he became good at it suddenly. So, it pained him, but Tom had to ruin his potion on purpose. He felt utterly disgusted with himself when he looked at Granger’s Draught of Peace, the silver vapour that came from her cauldron, which meant she had done a perfect job. Tom knew he could prepare a better one if given the opportunity; Slughorn had first fallen by his ability with Potions, after all. But it was necessary. The worst was that Snape wasn’t happy with his failing: apparently even that disaster was too good for Potter. In moments like this, Tom hated Potter and his mediocrity with all his being. That’s why when Snape insinuated that he didn’t know what mistake he made, Tom couldn’t help but give the right answer, even if it was in a doubtful way, just to see the spark of frustration in Snape’s eyes. What was Tom going to do with Potions? 

Then came Divination. Tom entered the classroom alongside Weasley feeling actual interest. Sybill Trelawney was the woman that made the infamous prophecy. The one that described Lord Voldemort’s fall. And indirectly, it was the reason why Tom was standing there, why two pieces of Tom Riddle’s soul were currently in Harry Potter’s body. Tom had already searched every memory that Potter had of his teacher, and he knew the woman seemed mostly like a joke in them. But he trusted more his own judgment than Potter’s impressions, so he preferred to examine the woman himself. 

The class was about dream interpretation, a subject that Tom found fascinating. Tom remembered that his former talented Divination teacher, Pythia Delphi, had given them interesting classes on the subject. In fact, Delphi’s teachings had started his interest in the subject of Divination. Unfortunately, Trelawney had given them _The Dream Oracle _as the book for the course. A book that was basically a dictionary of dreams, in which every element meant something specific. That wasn’t the proper way to interpret dreams, which was an art, way more complex and difficult to achieve than what the book suggested. In the end, Tom felt disappointed. Trelawney was not what a Seer should have been. Her overly dramatic predictions and everything about her antics screamed of fraud. As far as Potter knew, she had only made two real prophecies, and she wasn’t even aware of either of them. Tom supposed that even if the woman seemed innocuous enough, he should keep an eye on her. Both prophecies had been about him. He could never know when Trelawney would make another real prophecy. 

His final class of the day was the most interesting. But not because of the class itself. Dolores Umbridge proved to be an interesting woman. Tom knew how to spot a snake when he saw one. She talked sweetly, but her venom showed still. Her pink cardigan and her soft act were all but means to fool those around her until she striked. Tom was familiar with disguises. And the other surprise was Granger’s reaction to the witch from the Ministry. Tom thought that Granger was a follower of the rules and respectful of authority. But Granger showed that she was willing to make exceptions, and the class became a tense match between her and the teacher. When Umbridge recognized that she didn’t intend to teach them practical magic, Tom had felt revulsion. To not teach magic to young wizards was another level of wrongness. Almost a crime. He had always hated the Ministry of Magic, but this was low even for them. However, Tom remained quiet for the entire class. Even if the woman hid it well at first, she was obviously expecting him to argue with her at some point. She was trying to provoke Potter with little subtlety at the end, and she kept looking at Tom, expecting him to say anything. But Tom was not Potter, so he nodded when Granger sent him a worried glance, to assure her that he wasn’t going to fall into the obvious trap. He wouldn’t bring Umbridge the satisfaction, and he wasn’t going to give the woman an excuse to put him on detention. Nothing good could come from that.

* * *

Tom had to wait for a while, until he was sure the rest of his roommates were asleep. Weasley was snoring loudly in the bed near his and the shallow breathing of the others meant they were in deep sleep. 

Tom got up and did a Disillusioned Spell on himself. He didn’t need Potter’s Cloak of Invisibility, after all. For more safety he did a silencer spell on his feet. The boy went through the castle like a ghost. He knew the castle like the palm of his hand, every corridor and every secret passage. He didn’t meet anybody unexpected in the way.

Soon, Tom arrived at his destination: the Room of Requirement. He walked three times on front of the door while he did his request to the room, feeling excited. His heart was pounding loudly in his chest. The door appeared in the wall and he entered it. He was standing in a room the size of a large cathedral, whose high windows were sending shafts of light down upon what looked like a city with towering walls, built of what must be objects hidden by generations of Hogwarts inhabitants. There were alleyways and roads bordered by tethering piles of broken and damaged furniture, stowed away, perhaps, to hide the evidence of mishandled magic. There were thousands and thousands of books, no doubt banned or graffitied or stolen, there were winged catapults and Fanged Frisbees, some still with enough life in them to hover halfheartedly over the mountains of other forbidden items; there were chipped bottles of congealed potions, hats, jewels, cloaks; there were what looked like dragon eggshells, corked bottles whose contents still shimmered evilly, several rusting swords, and a heavy, bloodstained axe. Tom hurried forward into one of the many alleyways between all this hidden treasure. His pulse felt loud in his ears. In top of one of the cupboards, there it was, what looked like an ancient, discoloured tiara: the legendary Ravenclaw’s Diadem. Slowly, he reached and took it. As soon as his hand touched it, a feeling of wellness overwhelmed him, his very soul seemed to shiver. Another part of his soul was with him again. For what felt like hours, but maybe were only minutes, Tom stayed there, just holding the Horcrux in his hands. It felt alive, almost like it had a pulse. The Slytherin’s locket that hanged around his neck was warmer too and Tom could definitely feel another pulse there, next to his chest. Three Horcruxes (or four, if Tom counted the part that was attached to him) in close proximity, almost together, but still apart. Tom wanted to have those Horcruxes with him forever, but there wasn’t a way to keep the diadem with him like the locket. Tom acknowledged he had to leave the diadem there. He couldn’t carry that around. 

But he felt reluctant to just leave a piece of his soul in that place, surrounded by rubbish. 

Voldemort had hidden it the last time he was at Hogwarts, when he came to ask Dumbledore for the teacher post, so he had to hid it in a hurry. Despite that, Tom conceded it had been a good idea, maybe even a better one than the other hiding places. As the incident with Regulus proved, a Horcrux with too much protection could draw attention. But in that huge room, full of thousands of objects, it would be impossible to find something, unless you already knew where and what it was. And nobody knew about the diadem. There were few who knew about the Room of Requirement, and less who could get to that precise room. The risk was if somebody entered the room and by chance took the tiara. His Master Soul had made the diadem look as plain as possible before he left it there, but one could never know. Tom was more careful than him, so he wasn’t taking any chances, he had to hid it better than it was now, in plain sight. Tom found a discoloured trunk under the space of a cupboard. It looked ordinary enough. He put the diadem there. To cover it, he put an old grey cloth that was ragged. Then, he saved other objects in the trunk, the most boring ones he could find, so the diadem wouldn’t call attention. Satisfied with his job, he closed it and put a padlock in the trunk. It was maddening to do things the Muggle way, but a powerful wizard could sense traces of magic, so he wasn’t going to risk it. It was best, even if he didn’t like it, to hide his Horcrux in an ordinary way. At last, he left the trunk next to a cupboard.

* * *

A few hours later, Tom was back in the Gryffindor dormitory and inside Potter’s bed. But he couldn’t sleep. There were too many thoughts in his head. The ring. Marvolo Gaunt’s Ring. What’s it safe? There was not a reason to think the opposite, but if Regulus Black had found the locket… Regulus, who wasn’t even a wizard with any talent…. Tom wasn’t sure the protections were enough any more. He wanted to retrieve the ring. He had to go to the Gaunt’s shack soon. But how? If he was supposed to be Harry Potter and he was currently at Hogwarts. He was under surveillance, by Dumbledore and the Ministry, it wasn’t so easy. The answer came quickly to him: he would go to retrieve his other Horcrux in the next trip to Hogsmeade. He would find a way to escape. It was the perfect opportunity. 

And the other Horcrux? Helga Hufflepuff's Cup was hidden in the Lestrange family vault at Gringotts. It was safe there. Gringotts was one of the safest places in England. So he would leave that one there, at least for the moment.

But there was another problem. A big one. Tom didn’t know if his Master soul had created more Horcruxes. As far as Tom knew, there have been six. The diary, the ring, the cup, the locket, the diadem and finally, Harry Potter, the accidental one. And now there were five, because the Horcruxes inside Harry Potter, and the diary had merged. But his original plan was to create seven Horcruxes. So there was a good chance that Voldemort had created more. Maybe one more, or even two, because his master soul didn’t know about the accidental Horcrux. 

And Lord Voldemort, the Original, the Master soul, the Source… What were his plans now? Tom Riddle felt frustrated because he didn’t know for certain. It was obvious that Lord Voldemort was keeping a low profile to divide his enemies and to gain stronger force without interference from the Ministry. Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix finding out probably wasn’t a part of the plan, so Tom could bet his master soul was being more careful-

But Tom didn’t know, and he couldn’t guess the details of those plans. And he should know, he was Lord Voldemort too! But Tom didn’t have any memories after the Killing Curse had hit him. How much had Lord Voldemort changed after that experience? And even if Tom had memories from his Older Self, everything after the creation of the diary didn’t feel like it belonged to him. The memories Tom acquired from the accidental Horcrux were not his, the decisions Voldemort made after they were separated, were not his either. Tom could recall those memories that didn’t belong to him, he felt a distance with them, and he disagreed with some decisions Lord Voldemort made over the years. But Tom was still Lord Voldemort. Tom was just worried how important he really was on the equation.

Tom was vulnerable to death again. He was just a Horcrux, so if someone tried to kill Potter… Tom wasn’t sure, but most probably, he would die. Tom felt sickness at the mere thought. Were all his sacrifices for nothing? The other Horcruxes wouldn’t stop his death, just the one of his Master soul. And wasn’t that unfair? Tom was half of Voldemort’s soul. Tom remembered that _Secrets of the Darkest Arts _explained that in the process of making a Horcrux, the soul was splatted in two. And his master soul had kept the other half of his soul, until he made more and more Horcruxes and now who knew how much of his original soul still existed in him. So following that logic, Tom had half and a little more (with the Accidental Horcrux in him) of soul. He was more Voldemort than the real Voldemort, but he was at disadvantage nevertheless. Tom was surrounded by enemies, and Voldemort’s allies would consider him an enemy too. In conclusion, Tom was in a very dangerous position.

The only possibility to obtain more safety was to contact his Source directly and to explain to him the situation. But how would Lord Voldemort react when Harry Potter appeared in front of him claiming to be an Horcrux? Tom guessed that couldn’t go too well, he would lucky if his Master soul didn’t kill him on the spot. The current Lord Voldemort seemed more hasty than himself, more unpredictable and impulsive, so trying that approach didn’t seem wise. 

Tom came to the conclusion he would have to contact him remotely first. But how? Tom couldn’t just send him a letter, the thought was just ludicrous. Harry Potter sending a letter to the Dark Lord? That surely wouldn’t go unnoticed, Potter’s mail (his mail, Tom had to remember) was almost certainly being watched. Either by the Ministry or by Hogwarts. No, the risk was too great. And Tom wasn’t even sure where Voldemort was. He could bet that his Source was hiding in the house of a Death Eater, but that didn’t solve the question of which one. The information he intended to send was too sensitive to be in the hands of any followers. Only the Dark Lord himself could know.

In that restless state of mind, Tom drifted to sleep, devising ways to contact his Master soul safely. Again, his dreams were full of dark corridors and locked doors. He couldn’t open the last door this time either.


	14. Honesty and Lies

Hermione was unsure about how to feel about Harry’s behaviour lately. If someone told her last year that her best friend would spend the first week of school with her in the library, voluntarily, she would have laughed at the mere idea. But here he was. 

At first, Hermione had seen with good eyes Harry’s dedication to studying. Since the first day of the year, Harry spent the evening in the library, first doing his homework and then advancing in some readings. Ron stayed with them, seizing the time to do his homework too, but after he finished them he would go, explaining he wouldn’t stay to study more than necessary. What surprised Hermione was that Ron hadn’t insisted on bringing Harry with him, which made her think that Ron was doing something in the evenings. When she asked Ron what he was doing, his answer had been evasive and his ears had turned a bright red, a clear sign that the boy was concealing something. But she was too worried about her increasing homework, the new challenges of her classes and Harry’s behaviour, so she hadn’t asked again. She would, after she found the time to interrogate him, but probably Ron himself would tell her soon. Something she liked about Ron was how transparent he was, it was easy to notice when he lied, and he didn’t keep things to himself for very long.

But just as she was sure Ron would tell her about his activities eventually, Harry was a completely different case. For the most part, Harry wasn’t one to trust his feelings to others, probably because he wasn’t good at recognizing them himself. But he usually told her and Ron everything else. This time, however, Harry wasn’t telling his friends anything at all. He hadn’t told them about what happened in the cemetery with You-Know-Who, and he hadn’t talked about the death of Cedric and Dudley either. After the return of You-Know-Who, she and Ron had agreed not to insist Harry on the subject, giving him time to tell them when he was ready. But that time never came. 

Hermione usually could deal with Harry’s silence, because even when he didn’t tell her things, she could usually guess because, just like Ron, Harry was very transparent, and he wasn’t good at hiding his feelings or beliefs. But now it was different. Harry seemed fine, actually too fine, in Hermione’s opinion. He was slowly improving in all his classes, he was taking the taunts of Snape better than ever, and he even ignored the stares and whispers that followed him everywhere he went. It wasn’t normal that he was taking everything so well, he would usually get irritable and snap at this point. In fourth year, Harry had been unbearable during the time the entire school was against him. She was worried that Harry was just repressing everything.

Another part of her, however, was happy, and Hermione felt guilty about it. For the first time, Harry spent more time with her than Ron voluntarily, and this time it wasn’t because Harry was angry at his other friend, like the year before. Since she had befriended the pair, Harry and Ron were always closer to each other. It made sense, because they were friends first, and they had more in common. Hermione was fine with that, she was just thankful to have them in her life. She still remembered those lonely days in first year, when she was always on her own at the library. Harry and Ron had been good for her; she had become more flexible with the rules and more capable of socializing than before. The advice that the Sorting Hat gave her had made sense then, when she realized that thanks to her Gryffindor friends she got out of her shell and became braver. The Sorting Hat had given her a choice between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. It had explained to her that in Ravenclaw she would be comfortable, like a fish in the sea, but that in Gryffindor, she could improve herself, that a more challenging environment would bring out her hidden qualities. At first, she had regretted her choice, when she felt that everyone at Gryffindor disliked her, and she saw that in Ravenclaw there were study groups among the students, where easy friendships were formed. In first year, house rivalries were always more important to students, so friendships between different houses weren’t possible. So Hermione couldn’t be a part of those study groups and she always sat by herself in the library and in the Great Hall. But in the end, Harry and Ron had become great friends to her, and she felt that their friendship had led her to grow. They were very different from her, but that wasn’t a bad thing, because the Sorting Hat had been right, and her best friends were a good influence on her, they challenged her in ways that people more similar to her, wouldn’t. Even Ginny, with whom Hermione maintained a more casual friendship and was her only female friend (a friendship that begun in fourth year when Hermione stayed with the Weasley’s during the summer, and they shared a tent at the Quidditch World Cup), was very different from her. But the important thing was that all her friends accepted Hermione just the way she was.

So Hermione thought that she had made peace with the fact that her friends and herself didn’t share the same interests, until she had spent the first week of the semester studying with Harry. 

Hermione wasn’t sure why this time she felt it was different, when Harry and herself had spent lots of times at the library before, studying together. Last year, when Harry and Ron had quarrelled over the Tournament, Harry had stayed with her in the library too. Maybe it was because now Harry didn’t seem resigned and miserable like that time, but like he was actually enjoying spending time with her. When she couldn’t help herself and started rambling about academical theories or books she had read, Harry’s eyes weren’t glazed as usual, like he was trying to hide his boredom and wasn’t really listening to her. On the contrary, his eyes twinkled with interest, and he listened intently. He didn’t say much, but the few comments he made were sharp, intelligent and had surprised her. It felt like she had finally a friend who shared her interests.

But no. That was the selfish part of her, the part that wanted to ignore the situation. It was an illusion. If Harry wasn’t ok, like she suspected, his behaviour was just to avoid his own grief and confusing feelings. What kind of friend she would be if she didn’t try to help him? Harry had suffered enough for a lifetime, he needed real friends. 

So she had read a few muggle books about psychology and had come to the conclusion that Harry presented the signs and symptoms of psychological and emotional trauma. He lacked the interest in previously-enjoyable activities, he presented social isolation and withdrawal (maybe that was why he spent so much time in the library, Hermione thought with sadness), he seemed less expressive and emotionally numbed. There were other symptoms, ones that she couldn’t know for sure if Harry presented or not, like insomnia (maybe she should ask Ron about that later), anxiety, guilt of the survivor and many others. But he indeed had slight dark circles under his eyes, so maybe he wasn’t sleeping well. But there was not denying life was being hard with Harry at the moment. He had witnessed the return of You-Know-Who and the death of Cedric. So he had those two facts on his shoulders, and the worst was that the magical community didn’t believe in his story. Harry was not only threatened by You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters, but also the Ministry. To make it even worse, his cousin had lost his soul that same summer. How was Harry going to be fine? No, he obviously wasn’t. Hermione had decided that she was going to talk to Harry. The strategy to keep things under the rug wasn’t an option any more, Harry would eventually explode if he kept doing that. 

So on Friday, the last day of the first week, she decided it was enough. They were currently in the library, so Hermione cleared her throat loudly to caught Harry’s attention.

“Yes?” Harry asked, raising a brow.

“I think we’d done enough studying. Fancy a walk?” Hermione said, trying to sound casual. 

“Hermione Granger just said there’s such a thing as ´enough studying´? I’m shocked,” Harry mocked her, smirking.

She laughed. 

“I just think we can use a break before Defence. Let’s go outside.”

* * *

It was a cloudy day. Hermione and Harry were walking slowly in the courtyard. The girl felt nervous because now that she had the perfect opportunity to talk, she felt reluctant about it. She was worried that Harry’s temper would finally arise. They walked in silence for a few minutes until Harry spoke.

“I assume you wanted to talk with me?”

Hermione felt surprised. She hadn’t expected him to pick up her intentions, since Harry was usually oblivious. Maybe he was more alert now? That was another possible symptom of trauma…

“Actually, I do,” Hermione admitted. “Maybe we should sit down first.”

She pointed a bench that was under a tree. It was a good spot for conversations when you didn’t want anyone to listen, since it had a good view of the courtyard that let you see if someone came from afar. They sat. Harry was looking at her expectantly, like he was very interested in whatever she was going to say. It unnerved her. But she wasn’t going to lose her courage, this conversation was important.

“Well, Harry, I wanted to talk to you about…. Well, a lot of things,” Hermione said carefully. “I mean, I think it’s great that you are taking your studies more seriously now, like I already told you many times before. I mean, I’m the last person to question the importance our grades have on this year and on our future. So I applaud you for your dedication this week. And also, it makes me glad that you want to spend all this time with me. It’s been good to have someone to study with.”

Harry was looking at her patiently, waiting for her to continue.

“What I mean to say is... I’m worried about you, Harry” Hermione admitted in a lower voice. “I can’t stop wondering if you are actually ok. You haven’t spent much time around Ron lately, you don’t seem interested in things you usually like, and all this time in the library… I wonder if you’re just hiding from everyone else. I know that you’re going through a difficult time.”

Harry stayed silent for a while, apparently thinking what to say to that. His face composed, in a thoughtful poise. It was the last strand for her, to see him so calm. Hermione couldn’t help herself and the words started pouring from her mouth, everything that she had been worrying over the last month.

“I just feel you’ve been so distant after everything that happened at the Tournament. You never talked about it, for Merlin’s sake! I and Ron were sick of worrying over the summer, since you never told us what happened at the cemetery. We had to hear it from Sirius!” Hermione almost shouted. She tried to calm down. It wasn’t fair to Harry to yell him like this. He wasn’t looking at her anymore, now he looked pensively towards the distance.

“I just want you to remember that you’re not alone. There are people who care about you. If you keep everything to yourself, it will be worst, trust me. You need to talk to someone. You can tell me, Ron, Sirius or anyone you prefer. But please, talk to someone.” Hermione said, her voice filled with sadness. A few tears came escaped before she could stop them. “Just do me a favour, and don’t isolate yourself.”

She put her hand on his. Hermione considered it a good sign that Harry did not try to reach out. Suddenly, he looked at her in a way she couldn’t pinpoint. 

“You care a lot about me, don’t you?” Harry asked her.

“Of course, Harry.” Hermione answered, not understanding the point of his question.

“And tell me, what did I ever do to deserve such loyalty?”

Hermione gave him a tearful laugh. 

“That’s friendship for you, silly.” 

He laughed forcefully. For some reason, Hermione didn’t think it was genuine.

“You’re right, I suppose. But I wonder if I’m such a good friend to you, as you are to me.”

“Of course you’re a good friend, Harry!” Hermione reproached him immediately.

“No, I’m not. You’re constantly worrying about me and helping me, but I’m afraid I don’t reciprocate you in the same way. Everything is always about my problems, but what about you? Your problems, your life? Don’t tell me I’m a good friend, Hermione. So what if I realized that, and now I want to make up for it?” Harry said seriously. 

Hermione felt shocked. She didn’t know what to say about that. Harry sounded so mature. A traitorous part in her agreed with his words. It was always her taking care of him, and not the other way around. Maybe he was right… But no. It wasn’t fair. Harry had to deal with difficulties she never had. His problems were much greater than hers.

“No, Harry! You had to face troubles that make mine pale in comparison. You had to deal with You-Know-Who trying to kill you, all these years. Obviously I would help you more! You need it more!” Hermione argued. 

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but she interrupted him.

“Wait… So that’s what’s this is been about?” Hermione asked suddenly, feeling sad. “You are spending more time with me to make amends?”

“Of course not, Hermione,” Harry said fervently, looking directly into her eyes, “I meant it when I told you I decided to take my studies more seriously. And I have enjoyed spending more time with you. But it made me aware that our relationship is not as reciprocal as it should be. You’re brilliant, Hermione. You’re the greatest witch I ever met. And I’m not as great as you are. Someone as worthy as you, deserves better.”

Hermione felt herself blushing. It was one of her weaknesses, the praising and recognition from other people. Especially coming from people she appreciated. And Harry hardly gave many compliments to anyone. Yes, she was smarter than Harry, she couldn’t deny it. But was she better than him? She felt sad that Harry thought so little of himself. Always so humble. 

She laughed without any joy. Harry looked at her, curiously.

“Me!" said Hermione, shaking her head. “You think I’m better than you? Books! And cleverness! There are more important things --friendship and bravery! Your life has been so hard, you had to overcome so many hardships, and in spite of everything you've been through, you still have the purest soul than anyone I have ever known, Harry.”

Harry stopped looking at her. He didn’t seem embarrassed, as Hermione was expecting. There was a strange smile on his face, that Hermione couldn’t interpret, but she was sure it wasn’t a happy one. Almost as if there was an irony in the situation that she couldn’t understand.

“If you say so, Hermione,” Harry said. He sounded almost... amused? Hermione couldn’t read Harry very well these days. “But I keep what I said. You’re the brightest witch of our age, as you must have heard.”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh, remembering that compliment that Lupin and later Sirius, had given her. 

“I keep my words too, Harry,” the witch replied stubbornly. 

He nodded. They stayed a few minutes in silence. But something was bothering Hermione.

“We should go, Ron must be looking for us,” Harry said, standing up.

“Wait,” Hermione knew what was bothering her now. Harry hadn’t answered what she said first. It was almost like he tried to avert her attention by talking about their friendship and praising her? But no, that was ridiculous. Harry Potter couldn’t be sneaky even if his life depended on it. “What about what I told you earlier? You haven’t answered me.”

Harry sat down again.

“Oh right, I forgot,” he said. Hermione could see nothing but honesty on his face. “I’m sorry about not telling you about what happened at the cemetery. I don’t feel ready to talk about it. But I’m glad that Sirius told you both everything. I wanted you to know.”

Hermione nodded.

“And I’m sorry for worrying you with my attitude, Hermione. It’s been hard lately. You know why. But I haven’t been avoiding people or my problems by being in the library with you, I swear. I just think I need more tranquillity and studying doesn’t bother me as it used to. Now I get why you enjoy reading so much.”

Hermione couldn’t help but smile at that. 

“About Ron, it’s not that I don’t want to spend time with him. It’s just that he’s been busy lately. I don’t know what he’s been doing at the evenings,” Harry continued.

“Yeah, me neither. I noticed he’s been acting weird,” Hermione admitted.

“And finally, I hear what you’re saying, Hermione. I will talk about everything when I feel ready, I promise. You’re right. I shouldn’t close myself down,” Harry finished.

It was better than what Hermione expected. She felt more relieved now, that Harry admitted that there were things bothering him. She would respect him if he needed some space.

“I’m glad, Harry. Please remember you can always talk to me about anything,” Hermione said.

Harry nodded, surprising her by squeezing her hand lightly. Harry usually wasn’t one to initiate physical contact. It was always her hugging him. She responded him in equal manner. Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe everything would be alright.


	15. I must respect my teachers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case you didn't notice, I posted 3 chapters at the same time! (A late Christmas gift to my readers). I realized maybe some readers didn't know and they didn't read chapters 13 and 14. Go read them!

Hermione and Harry had moved to the Common Room. She was knitting and Harry was trying to pet a very wary Crookshanks when someone interrupted them.

“Harry, Hermione! Here you are, I been looking everywhere for you!” Ron shouted, almost running towards them. “I didn’t find you at the library.”

“We took a walk,” Harry explained. 

“Great. Look, I need to tell you both something before class,” Ron said in a very fast and feverish way. “I thought I’d try out for Gryffindor Keeper. The tryouts are today. I just wanted to tell you before you knew it from someone else.”

Before Harry or Hermione could respond to the news, Ron started talking again. His ears were very red.

“Yeah, I know it might not be the best idea. But now I’ve got a decent broom, so I just thought I’d give a try. Go on. You can laugh.”

Hermione looked at him, disbelieving. Sometimes she forgot that Ron was very insecure about certain things.

“Why would we laugh? I think it’s great, Ron!” Hermione said as enthusiastically as she could. Ron smiled relieved at her.

“It’s a great idea,” Harry said smiling to him. “We could spend more time together now! Haven’t seen much of you this week.” And Harry looked briefly at Hermione while he said the last part, probably trying to convey her that he was taking seriously her advice about shutting himself down. 

“Yeah, sorry about that, mate. I was practising every evening since Tuesday. I hoped you didn’t mind too much since you were studying a lot this week and all,” Ron said.

“So that’s what you were doing!” Hermione said. “I wanted to ask you where you went every day after you left us! Why didn’t you tell us?”

Ron chuckled uncomfortably. 

“I didn’t want to tell you anything before I was sure I’d actually do it. And it hasn’t been easy, you know? I’ve been trying to bewitch Quaffles to fly at me, but I don’t know how much use it’ll be.” Suddenly, Ron looked nervous and anxious, “Fred and George are going to laugh themselves stupid when I turn up for the tryouts. They haven’t stopped taking the mickey out of me since I got made a prefect.” 

Hermione wanted to curse the Weasley twins sometimes, because their constant mocking of their younger brother was one of the reasons Ron’s self-esteem wasn’t the best. 

“Don’t listen to them! They’re just jealous,” Hermione said firmly. “You’re going to be good, I’m sure.”

Ron smiled weakly at her, but he seemed more reassured.

“Yeah, she’s right, mate,” Harry said to encouragely him. “I will be there, supporting you. Angelina wanted the entire team to be there, to see how the new Keeper fit in.”

“The entire team?” Ron looked pale now.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hermione said quickly, “I will come too, to support you. And I’m sure there won’t be that many people.”

Ron nodded, still nervous.

* * *

After talking with her two best friends, Hermione felt more optimistic. She wasn’t as worried about Harry as before, and she was glad that Ron had finally told them what he had been doing. But with Dolores Umbridge on the mix, the day could still go downhill. You could always count on that woman to make things worst.

Hermione couldn’t help herself. She had read the entire book that Professor Umbridge recommended before the year even started. And she disagreed with the opinion of the author about counter jinxes. She wanted to tell her Professor since the first class, but she hadn’t last time, because Umbridge had already taken points from her. But now, she thought it would be okay to tell the woman her concerns about the course. She was wrong.

Professor Umbridge’s eyebrows rose higher and her gaze became distinctly colder. 

“You disagree?” Umbridge asked, trying to maintain their conversation quiet.

“Yes, I do,” said Hermione, who, unlike Umbridge, was not whispering, but speaking in a clear, carrying voice. Hermione wanted her classmates to understand that Umbridge's methods were not good. “Mr. Slinkhard doesn’t like jinxes, does he? But I think they can be very useful when they’re used defensively.” 

“Oh, you do, do you?” said Professor Umbridge, forgetting to whisper and straightening up. “Well, I’m afraid it is Mr. Slinkhard’s opinion, and not yours, that matters within this classroom, Miss Granger.” 

“But —” Hermione began. 

“That is enough,” said Professor Umbridge sharply. She walked back to the front of the class and stood before them. “Miss Granger, I am going to take fifteen points from Gryffindor House and I’m going to give you detention for a week, starting today.”

There was an outbreak of muttering at this from her classmates. The words were like a cold shower to Hermione. A professor had given _ her _ detention? Just because she gave her opinion? And an entire week?!

“What for?” Ron asked angrily. “She didn’t do anything! This is unfair!”

“Don’t you get involved!” Hermione whispered urgently to him. She was sure Umbridge was only looking for excuses to punish them.

“For disrupting my class with pointless interruptions in the two classes we already had,” said Professor Umbridge smoothly. “I am here to teach you using a Ministry-approved method that does not include inviting students to give their opinions on matters about which they understand very little. Your previous teachers in this subject may have allowed you more licence, but as none of them — with the possible exception of Professor Quirrell, who did at least appear to have restricted himself to age-appropriate subjects — would have passed a Ministry inspection.” 

While Umbridge praised Quirrell, she looked straight at Harry, as if daring him to contradict her. Harry looked coldly at her, but he didn’t take the bait.

“Well, I’m glad we clarified that. There will be an environment of proper respect in this classroom. Do I make myself clear?” asked Umbridge in a sweet tone that Hermione already hated.

“Yes, Professor Umbridge,” said some students monotonously.

“Wonderful, now-- Yes, Mr. Potter?” Umbridge asked with a predatory smile one her face. Harry had his hand raised.

“Professor, what questions are we allowed to ask? I just don’t want to step any boundaries by accident,” Harry said politely with an innocent voice. If it had been anyone else and not her friend, Hermione would have thought it was a genuine question. 

A heavy silence fell on the class. Umbridge’s smile tightened. 

“Only doubts about the subject and not personal opinions, Mr. Potter. Is that clear?”

“Very clear, Professor,” Harry said, in the same polite tone.

The rest of the class was tense. Nobody else dared to say a word and everyone read in silence. Hermione was nervous the entire time, imagining what punishment Umbridge wanted to give her. It was obvious to her that since the woman didn’t have an excuse to give detention to Harry, she had given one to her, one of Harry’s best friends. This was all meant to provoke him, Hermione was sure of it.

Soon, the class was dismissed. 

“Miss Granger, stay please,” Professor Umbridge said in a deceivingly sweet tone. 

Hermione came forward to her teacher’s desk. Harry and Ron were the only ones besides her that hadn’t left the classroom, they were waiting for her.

“Don’t worry, I will catch you later,” Hermione said to reassure them. The Keeper tryouts started only in a few minutes, so her friends had to leave.

“If you say so,” Ron said, not looking very convinced. 

Both of her best friends left.

“Your first detention will be today. Come to my office, Miss Granger,” Umbridge said.

“Now?” Hermione asked. But she wanted to go see how Ron did in the tryouts!

“Yes, Miss Granger. Is there a problem with that?” The woman asked innocently. Hermione was almost sure that Umbridge knew about the Keeper tryouts.

“Can you give me some time to rest first, Professor?” Hermione asked, trying to sound neutral.

“I’m afraid not, Miss Granger. Detentions are not given at the convenience of students. It’s supposed to be a punishment after all,” Professor Umbridge said in a saccharine tone.

“Of course,” Hermione said grinding her teeth.

Both witches walked in silence towards Umbridge’s office. When Hermione entered, she felt immediate distaste for the decoration. The surfaces had all been draped in lacy covers and cloths. There were several vases full of dried flowers, each residing on its own doily, and on one of the walls was a collection of ornamental plates, each decorated with a large technicolour kitten wearing a different bow around its neck. It seemed like a little girl’s idea of good taste.

“Well, sit down,” Umbridge said, pointing toward a small table draped in lace beside which she had drawn up a straight-backed chair. A piece of blank parchment lay on the table, apparently waiting for her. Hermione sat down and didn’t make a comment about it, but she knew that meant the preparation meant that Umbridge had planned to give her detention before the class even started. The woman was not even trying to hide that this was all an excuse. 

“As I explained to Mr. Weasley earlier, your disrespect towards my methods of teaching and myself, are not acceptable, Miss Granger. Now you are going to be doing some lines for me, to imprint that message in that curious mind of yours. There’s a reason you’re the student, and I’m the teacher. You will have to learn some respect, Miss Granger. No, not with your quill,” the woman said, as Hermione bent down to open her bag. “You’re going to be using a rather special one of mine. Here you are.” 

She handed her a long, thin black quill with an unusually sharp point. 

“I want you to write ‘I must respect my teachers,’” Umbridge told her softly. Hermione wanted to curse the witch. She, Hermione Granger, disrespectful towards her teachers? She was the model student! This was only meant to insult and provoke her! But Hermione wouldn’t give Umbridge another excuse for more punishment, so she stayed quiet.

“How many times?” Hermione asked, gritting her teeth. 

“Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in,” said Umbridge sweetly. “Off you go.” 

Professor Umbridge moved over to her desk, sat down, and bent over a stack of parchment that looked like essays for marking. Hermione raised the sharp black quill and then realized what was missing.

“You haven’t given me any ink,” Hermione said frowning.

“Oh, you won’t need ink,” said Professor Umbridge with the merest suggestion of a laugh in her voice. 

Hermione placed the point of the quill on the paper and wrote: ‘I must respect my teachers’. Almost immediately, the girl let out a gasp of pain. The words had appeared on the parchment in what appeared to be shining red ink. At the same time, the words had appeared on the back of Hermione’s right hand, cut into her skin as though traced there by a scalpel — yet even as she stared at the shining cut, the skin healed over again, leaving the place where it had been slightly redder than before but quite smooth. Hermione abruptly stood up and dropped the quill.

“What’s the meaning of this?!” Hermione asked outraged. 

“Your punishment, Miss Granger,” Umbridge explained calmly, still sitting.

“This must be illegal! I’m going to tell Professor Mcgonagall right now!” Hermione almost screamed. 

Professor Umbridge chuckled softly. 

“Oh, I forgot you were a Muggleborn, Miss Granger. People like you tend to be baffled by some of _ our _rules. After all, I understand that Muggle society is overprotective of its members. But in the Wizarding World, Miss Granger, we believe in discipline and a firm hand.”

Hermione felt Umbridge’s words like a slap in her face. She didn’t miss the emphasis on the word _ ‘our’ _. As if Hermione didn’t belong to their society. She had never felt so mad in her life.

“I’m as much of a witch as you are! This is my world too! And in the Muggle society, for your information, there’s something called Human Rights! People have the right not to be mistreated! And what you’re doing is called torture! If the Wizarding World accepts this kind of practices, then they are barbaric!” Hermione cried out. 

“My, my… Miss Granger. This kind of behaviour is what’s got you in trouble to begin with. You just called our society barbaric. This is exactly the kind of personal opinion that’s inappropriate to share in an educational environment. And you have disrespected me again. I’m going to have to add another week of detention, Miss Granger.” Umbridge said, toadlike mouth stretched in a smile.

“I refuse! I’m going to talk to Professor Mcgonagall this instant!” Hermione replied, going to the door. 

“Refusing to do a detention given by a teacher is cause for expulsion in Hogwarts, Miss Granger.” Umbridge explained calmly. Hermione froze in front of the door.

“What?” Hermione said, turning around and facing Umbridge.

“You heard me. I imagine someone so full of herself as you’re, is already aware of that rule.” Umbridge said maliciously.

Hermione felt her blood getting cold. It was true. She knew all the rules of Hogwarts. And she would never do anything that could cause her own expulsion.

“And if you don’t believe me, you can check for yourself that the use of a Blood Quill is legal. It’s an old tradition in Hogwarts.” Umbridge explained softly, pointing towards a book in her desk.

Hermione approached the desk and looked at the book. It was called _ Magical Law in Great Britain. _

“Page 45,” indicated Umbridge smiling widely.

Hermione read it slowly. Umbridge was telling her the truth. Defeated, Hermione sat down again. Trying not to shake.

Umbridge sighed exaggeratedly. 

“Well, if you’re done with the dramatics, Miss Granger, let’s continue.”

Hermione didn’t make a comment on it. She refused to look at Umbridge any more. She looked back at the parchment, placed the quill upon it once more, wrote, and felt the searing pain on the back of her hand for a second time; once again the words had been cut into her skin, once again they healed over seconds later. And on it went. Again and again Hermione wrote the words on the parchment in her own blood. And again and again the words were cut into the back of her hand, healed, and then reappeared the next time she set quill to parchment. Sometimes Hermione couldn’t help a hiss of pain coming out of her lips, and even if she couldn’t see it, she imagined Umbridge’s expression of joy everytime she did it. Darkness fell outside Umbridge’s window. Hermione did not ask when she would be allowed to stop, fearing Umbridge would give her more lines. 

“Come here,” Umbridge said, after what seemed hours. 

Hermione stood up. Her hand was stinging painfully. When she looked down at it, she saw that the cut had healed, but that the skin there was red raw. 

“Hand,” Umbridge said. 

Reluctantly, Hermione extended it. Her teacher took it in her own. The girl shuddered as Umbridge touched her with her thick, stubby fingers on which she wore a number of ugly old rings. At the moment Umbridge released her hand, Hermione walked away a few steps.

“Very well, Miss Granger,” Umbridge said smiling, “It seems you’re starting to get the message. We’ll just have to try again tomorrow evening, won’t we? You may go.”

Hermione left her office without a word. The school was quite deserted; it was surely past midnight. The Keeper tryouts surely ended long ago. She walked slowly up the corridor then, when she had turned the corner and was sure that Umbridge would not hear her, Hermione broke into tears. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a grammar check now! I love them, they make my work so much easier. I did it not only on the new chapters, but on the old ones too. I finally learned some differences between American and British English. The most important, that words like "color" are "colour" instead. I also made other corrections. So if you want to read everything again (you don't have to, nothing has actually changed), know that now it is better written!


	16. Sherbet Lemons and Knitting Patterns

When Hermione entered the Gryffindor Common Room, she was shaking. Luckily, the only one still awake was Harry, who was reading a book in front of the fireplace. He stood when she walked in.

“Hermione? Are you ok?” Harry asked, looking concerned.

At his question, Hermione once more started crying. Her tears were not from pain, but from humiliation. Umbridge’s words had hurt her even more than the Blood Quill. Harry came near her, and tried to comfort her, by putting his hand in her shoulder. She couldn’t help herself and put her head on his shoulder, crying more compulsively. Hermione felt Harry stiffen at the contact, but after a moment he surrounded her with his arms, in an awkward hug. They stayed like that for a while until Hermione calmed down.

“What happened with Umbridge?” Harry asked.

Hermione told him everything, stopping her sobbings and becoming more angry as she recounted what Umbridge told her. Harry stayed thoughtful at her words.

“I think she was playing with you, Hermione. Even if it’s legal, I never heard of a teacher using a Blood Quill before. It sounds like Dark magic to me.”

“You mean that maybe it’s not forbidden legally, but it’s disapproved?” Hermione asked.

“Exactly,” Harry said, smiling reassuringly.

Hermione considered this for a while.

“You’re right, I will still go to Professor Mcgonagall,” Hermione said thoughtfully, feeling more calm. “Umbridge took a lot of trouble, showing me that book about Magical Law, and not letting me leave her office. Maybe she knew she would have problems if I told this to another teacher.”

“Indeed,” Harry said. “Are you going now?”

“I will go tomorrow, I don’t want to bother Professor Mcgonagall.”

“We can go together,” Harry insisted. “It’s better if you go now, before your hand heals and you lose the evidence.”

“Ok, I will go now,” Hermione agreed, thinking that Harry was right. Her hand was the only evidence she had. “But I’m a prefect, I can walk after curfew, but you can’t,” Hermione reminded him.

Harry smirked. It was a strange expression on his face.

“I have the Cloak, remember? It’s not the first time I walk after curfew, anyway.”

Hermione sighed.

“You’re impossible, you know? Why do you always want to break the rules?”

Harry seemed amused at her words.

“Ok, you win. We should check the Marauder’s Map, to see that it’s safe,” Hermione conceded.

“I lost the Map,” Harry said, looking sheepish.

“What?” 

“I haven’t ordered my things. It must be somewhere in my room,” Harry explained.

“You should just _ Accio _ it,” Hermione said patiently.

“I already tried,” Harry said and immediately added, “but maybe I forgot it in Grimmauld Place. I will ask Sirius later.”

Hermione chose not to comment on that. If Harry lost something as important to him as his father’s map, he probably had his head elsewhere.

* * *

In the end, Hermione accepted to go with Harry because to be honest with herself, she didn’t want to walk alone after the incident with Umbridge. They left the Gryffindor Tower under the Invisibility Cloak, quietly, trying to avoid Filch or anyone doing patrols.

“What happened in the tryouts with Ron?” Hermione whispered in Harry’s ear, suddenly remembering, while they were walking down a hallway.

Harry sighed sadly.

“Ron did bad, I’m afraid. He didn’t get it. That’s why he wasn’t awake waiting for you, he went to bed early.”

Hermione felt sorry for Ron. She was sure it had been a hard blow to his self-esteem. They didn’t talk more about the subject, fearing they would be heard. Soon, they arrived at Mcgonagall’s office.

“Now leave, Harry,” Hermione whispered to him, stepping out of the Cloak. The last thing they needed was Harry getting into trouble.

She knocked on the door of the office. A grim Professor Mcgonagall opened, looking tired. Her face immediately went a little softer when she saw Hermione.

“Miss Granger, I wasn’t expecting any visitors at this hour. Is there a problem?”

“I have something important to tell you,” Hermione explained. “Can I come in?”

* * *

Telling Professor Mcgonagall was more difficult than describing the events to Harry. While Hermione talked the woman’s mouth became very thin and her nostrils wide, a clear sign of anger, but she didn’t interrupt until her student was finished.

“In all my years at Hogwarts, I never --“ Professor Mcgonagall started, without finishing her sentence. And then her voice changed, the tone she used was not what Hermione was used to; brisk, crisp and stern; it was low and anxious and somehow much more human than usual. 

“You have done well to tell me, Miss Granger. What Dolores Umbridge did is not illegal, but it’s immoral and cruel. Blood Quill’s are considered Dark Magic artifacts, so they’re heavily regulated. Maybe she has permission from the Ministry, maybe she hasn’t. But even if she does, Professor Dumbledore has forbidden physical punishment ever since he’s Headmaster. I’m sure that Dolores knows this.”

Hermione nodded. Harry had been right.

“I’m sorry this happened to you, Miss Granger. Surely you have realized that Dolores Umbridge has done this to you for political reasons, which makes the matter worst. She’s probably trying to get to Potter through you,” the woman explained, looking at her student with compassion. 

“I imagined that was the case, Professor,” Hermione said softly.

Mcgonagall put a hand in her shoulder. Hermione felt much better knowing that the Head of her House supported her.

“Let’s go immediately to the Headmaster’s office. Albus needs to know about this,” Professor Mcgonagall said more firmly, after a moment.

“Are you sure it's necessary, Professor?” Hermione asked, suddenly nervous. She felt reluctant of telling her story again in front of the Headmaster, or to bother him with something like this. Wouldn’t that create more problems with the Ministry?

“Of course it is; Miss Granger,” her Professor said, more sternly, not leaving room to argue. “ This is not for question. Let’s go.”

* * *

One thing was certain: of all the teachers' offices, Dumbledore's was by far the most interesting. It was a large and beautiful circular room, full of funny little noises. A number of curious silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. There were shelves full of books that looked ancient, and that Hermione couldn’t help but look with curiosity. The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were snoozing gently in their frames. There was also an enormous, claw-footed desk, and, sitting on a shelf behind it, the Sorting Hat. Fawkes, the phoenix that belonged to Dumbledore, but she had never seen with her own eyes, was looking at her from his perch. His eyes were black and showed intelligence. His feathers had crimson feathers on his body and a golden tail as long as a peacock's. He was roughly the size of a swan. His claws and beak were gleaming gold. Hermione had never seen such a fascinating animal.

Dumbledore was standing in front of his desk. He invited them to sit in front of him. Hermione sat, but Professor Mcgonagall was standing next to her, holding her shoulder in support.

“What do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Minerva?” Dumbledore asked kindly, and then he offered them: “Would you care for a sherbet lemon, Miss Granger? Minerva?”

Hermione politely refused. Professor Mcgonagall didn’t answer him, but started telling Dumbledore the reason for their visit. Dumbledore listened mindfully. But the time Professor Mcgonagall finished her report, Dumbledore’s grandfatherly expression had completely changed. Hermione felt a cold chill in her spine: the Headmaster looked almost scary now. Now she understood why powerful Dark wizards like Grindelwald and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named feared him. His presence had suddenly become almost threatening.

“I see, Minerva,” Dumbledore said, in a very serious tone.“This is an extremely serious matter. I will deal with Dolores immediately.”

“I’ll come too,” Professor Mcgonagall said firmly, in a tone that meant it wasn’t a suggestion. “Miss Granger is a student from my House and she’s under my charge.”

“Very well, Minerva,” Dumbledore agreed, and then he addressed Hermione, “Wait here, Miss Granger.”

Hermione heard the door close and stayed there, feeling tense. She was having second thoughts. Had it been a good idea to tell Professor Mcgonagall? Hermione wasn’t sure how much power her teacher or Dumbledore had over Umbridge. After all, the cruel woman was under the orders of Cornelius Fudge, so Hermione wasn’t sure if someone that came from the Ministry answered to the Headmaster like the rest of the staff.

Hermione was also afraid that Dumbledore would ask her to repeat her story in front of Umbridge. Would he bring her to the office? Hermione felt anxious at the prospect of seeing Umbridge so soon after her detention.

The girl was starting to feel the beginning of a headache, when the phoenix started to sing. Hermione had never heard something so beautiful. It felt like her soul was affected by the notes. Slowly she started feeling more calm and less anxious. By the time Fawkes stopped singing, Hermione felt a serenity she had never felt before. For once, her thoughts were quiet. 

“Thank you,” she whispered to Fawkes. The phoenix didn’t make any sign, but Hermione was sure that he understood her.

Hermione didn’t know how long she stayed there, waiting, but it felt long. Now that she was calmer, her curiosity arose. The office was full of fascinating objects. Hermione couldn’t help herself and started looking more closely. When she came to a section of books, she couldn’t help but feeling entranced. The texts looked very ancient. She saw _ Hogwarts a History _, it was an old edition she didn’t even know existed. Her fingers twitched with the need to touch it, but she contained herself. Surely Professor Dumbledore wouldn’t appreciate if she messed with such treasure.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” the Headmaster voice asked from behind. Startled, Hermione turned around, seeing that Dumbledore had returned.

“I’m very sorry, Professor! I didn’t mean to intrude,” Hermione apologized quickly. She saw with relief that Dumbledore was alone.

“No need to apologize, Miss Granger. Books are meant to be read and hold, after all,” Dumbledore said, smiling kindly to her, while he sat in his desk again. “That’s the first edition of _ Hogwarts a History _.”

“First edition?” Hermione asked with reverence. How different would it be from the version she owned or the ones in the library?

“A favorite I presume? You are welcome to borrow it, if you like,” Dumbledore said, still smiling to her in grandfatherly fashion.

“Oh, no! I couldn’t,” Hermione said quickly, but looking with longing at the book.

“I insist, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said calmly. “All the books in this office are part of the Hogwarts property. Any resident of the castle is welcome to borrow them.” 

“In that case, I accept. Thank you, Professor,” Hermione said, thrilled, not resisting anymore, and taking the book. It looked ancient and beautiful, golden letters decorated its cover. She wondered why those books weren’t in the library. Probably because they were too valuable and fragile, she thought, thinking the way people like Ron treated books…

“You would be glad to know that Professor Umbridge has canceled further detentions,” Professor Dumbledore said more seriously, interrupting her thoughts. She had forgotten Umbridge for a moment.

“Thank you, Professor. I appreciate your intervention. I apologize if I cause any problems with the Ministry, sir,” Hermione said, feeling a bit ashamed. She wondered what Dumbledore and Professor Mcgonagall told Umbridge to change her mind. At least Hermione felt relieved that she wouldn’t have to use the Blood Quill any more, but she knew Dumbledore’s position with the Ministry was precarious.

“It’s me who should apologize, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said sadly. Hermione looked surprised at him. “Hogwarts is supposed to be a safe environment for its students. Unfortunately, it’s not in my power to dismiss Professor Umbridge. The Minister doesn’t allow me to replace any teachers they appointed. But you shouldn’t concern yourself about the Ministry’s reaction. Cornelius understands perfectly that there are things that I will never allow in Hogwarts, as I kindly reminded Professor Umbridge.” 

Hermione felt very touched by Dumbledore’s apology, and glad that he thought she wasn’t exaggerating. He implied that what Umbridge did was worthy of firing a teacher. She wondered how threatening he was with Umbridge in order to make her suspend all her detentions. Hermione was sure the woman was not one to yield easily.

“Now, are you hungry, Miss Granger? I understand you couldn’t eat anything after your detention,” Dumbledore said amiably, changing the subject.

“It’s really not necessary, sir,” Hermione said shyly. Her stomach chose that moment to make a loud noise. She felt embarrassed.

“I insist, Miss Granger.” Dumbledore said, smiling suspiciously like he wanted to laugh.

Hermione accepted with a nod, not trusting her own words.

“Dobby, please come,” Dumbledore called into the air, and the House-elf Apparated with a loud ‘crack’.

“Yes, Professor Dumbledore, sir.” Dobby said with his shrill voice.

“Would you be so kind to bring Miss Granger some food? She missed dinner today.” Dumbledore asked politely.

“Miss Granger?” the House-elf asked, thrilled, and then he looked at Hermione. “Of course! Dobby would be honoured. Miss made beautiful socks and caps for Dobby before. Miss is very kind.” 

“Thank you, Dobby,” Hermione said, smiling sadly, remembering the discovery she made about House-elves during the summer.

Dobby smiled and with a clasp of his fingers he made a tray of food appear in front of Hermione. It was impressive magic. A shame that Dobby would only use it to serve others, Hermione thought.

“Is that all, Professor Dumbledore, sir?” Dobby asked.

“It is. Thank you, Dobby.” Dumbledore said kindly.

The House-elf Disapparated.

Hermione was looking sadly at her food for a moment. The House-elves servitude troubled her.

“Something bothering you, Miss Granger?” Dumbledore asked perceptively.

Hermione hesitated. 

“Well… Yes, sir. In Grimmauld Place, I found this book about House-elves, and it explained why the House-elves are the way they are. They are enslaved by magic. It affects their affections and personality,” Hermione explained, deciding there was no one wiser than Dumbledore to bring her concerns.

“I’m aware of the problem,” Dumbledore said sadly. “It’s an old and powerful magic that binds them to witches and wizards.”

“How can this be? Can it be broken?” Hermione asked anxiously.

“The exact magic that was used it’s unknown to us these days. That knowledge is lost,” Dumbledore admitted. “Ancient magic is very different from our current one. It belongs to a time before wands even existed. So no wizard or witch from our days can break those ancient spells. Our magic is too weak in comparison.”

“Are you saying wandless magic is more powerful?” Hermione asked shocked. “Then why isn’t it taught at Hogwarts?”

“Ancient magic is more than just wandless magic, Miss Granger. Wizards and witches were more powerful once, but we lost some of our power. Wandless magic is more powerful than using a wand, I admit, but it poses some serious disadvantages. Most wizards are not capable of controlling their magic well without the help of a wand; it becomes dangerous to themselves and to others.” At the last part Dumbledore’s gaze seem to contemplate something in the distance. His expression turned sad for a moment. “If wizards and witches do not learn to control their magic young, they never will. Wandless magic is an enormous risk. Few have that kind of control over their magics. That’s why is not taught at Hogwarts.”

“I read that before, that wizards and witches used to be more powerful.” Hermione said thoughtful. “Why is that, sir?”

“There are theories, but no one really knows. An accepted theory is that because wizards and witches lost their contact with nature and its magical beings, their magic became weaker. Others think that it was the fault of fairies, who stole some of our magic. And blood supremacists insist it’s because of Muggleborns and Half-bloods, that have tainted the wizarding blood.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Hermione exclaimed.

“It is, because it doesn’t explain why Pureblood wizards and witches have weaker magic too,” Dumbledore agreed calmly.“It’s just one of the countless theories that exist, and it’s one that’s based on prejudice alone. If you ask me, I dare say is a mystery with not easy answers -- Aren’t you going to eat, Miss Granger?”

“Oh...right.” 

Embarrassed, Hermione started eating. She had forgotten how hungry she was. For a few minutes, they stayed in silence while she ate, enjoying the food. 

“You know, Miss Granger, Remus has told me that you had started a platform for House-elves. It’s a very noble enterprise,” Dumbledore said.

Hermione almost choked on her food. Lupin told Professor Dumbledore about the conversation they had? One thing was getting praise from her teachers, another one, was being praised by a wizard like Dumbledore. It made her proud. But then she remembered the sad conclusion she had come about the S.P.E.W.

“Thank you, Professor. But I’m afraid my efforts are useless. If House-elves wills are enslaved by magic, they will not welcome my help,” Hermione admitted sadly.

“You should never underestimate the impact of your actions, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling with intensity. “Doing what’s right will never be useless.”

“So you think that I should continue the S.P.E.W.?” Hermione asked, a little surprised.

“If that’s the path you want to pursue. As you can see, your kindness with Dobby was not wasted. Maybe you need to reformulate your strategy, take in consideration that they don’t want to be free. Sometimes goodness needs to be done despite the volition of the beneficiaries,” Dumbledore explained.

“To do what’s good for them without their consent? I don’t agree, Professor,” Hermione said, frowning. “But I concede that my strategy needs to be changed.”

“Well, if you continue your organization, count me in, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said, more cheerfully.

“You would join the S.P.E.W.?” Hermione asked completely dazzled.

“If you allow me, of course,” Dumbledore said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“Of course I would! It would be an honor!” Hermione exclaimed enthusiastically. Having a wizard as influential as Dumbledore could bring actual support to the cause. Dumbledore smiled at her enthusiasm.

Hermione explained more details of the S.P.E.W. to an attentive Dumbledore, trying to remember eating in between, feeling excited. When she was done, however, Dumbledore’s mind seem elsewhere, and he stayed silent for a while.

“Can I ask you something else, Miss Granger?” Dumbledore asked suddenly. He seemed thoughtful, and his cheerfulness was long gone.

“Sure, sir,” Hermione answered.

“How is Harry? After the recent events.” Dumbledore’s blue eyes showed great concern.

Hermione didn’t know how to respond. She hesitated. She wanted to tell Dumbledore, but how much could she tell without breaking her best friend’s confidence?

“Well… He’s as well as can be expected, considering everything what happened to him,” Hermione chose to say carefully.

Dumbledore nodded.

“Was Dudley’s death too hard on him?”

Hermione remembered how Harry had left running after hearing about Dudley’s death.

“I think it was. But he has barely talked about it,” Hermione admitted. “I don’t want to break Harry’s confidence…”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said, reassuring her.

His eyes were kind and worried, and Hermione felt the impulse to tell Dumbledore everything. She was sure that the Headmaster had nothing but Harry’s wellbeing in mind. And she had been worrying alone about this lately, because Ron hadn’t been around this week. Hermione felt she was carrying this great burden, and she wanted to tell a responsible adult for once, to have someone take part of the responsibility. After considering it, Hermione decided to do it. Telling Dumbledore seemed more beneficial than harmful. 

Hermione explained the Headmaster how Harry seemed different to her; more distant, but also more mature. How worried she was about him, fearing Harry was repressing his feelings. How she thought the trauma was affecting him. His change in behaviour. Her worries.

Dumbledore stayed pensive after she finished her report.

“It’s worrying indeed. At least I’m glad to know that Harry has a friend such as yourself, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said, Hermione felt flattered at hearing his praising.”In these hard times, I’m sure he will need you and Mr. Weasley more than ever.”

“Thank you, sir,” the girl said, “We know he needs us. We try our best.”

Dumbledore smiled magnanimously.

“And Miss Granger, has he complained about his scar?”

“No, actually, he hasn’t mentioned it at all,” Hermione admitted. “I haven’t seen him in pain either, but Harry is good at hiding pain so… I don’t know. Maybe it hurts him, and he hasn’t talked about it.”

Dumbledore nodded in understanding.

“I appreciate your honesty, Miss Granger. I understand your concerns about breaking the confidence of a friend, but sometimes people have trouble asking for help. And it’s okay to relieve your own burdens in others too.”

Indeed, Hermione felt better after talking to Dumbledore, like a weight was lifted from her shoulders. But there was something else that was bothering her.

“Yes, it was good to talk to you, sir. But if you could forgive my boldness… I think that you should speak to Harry yourself, sir. He doesn’t understand some of your actions, and I’m sure that if you talked to him, Harry would feel better,” Hermione said, feeling braver.

Dumbledore smiled.

“I will consider your suggestion, Miss Granger. But I’m afraid that for now it’s not possible.”

Hermione opened her mouth to ask why, but Dumbledore interrupted her.

“My, my… It’s getting late, Miss Granger. You should go to your bedroom. It was a pleasure to share this conversation with you. I hope you come back when you want to, to borrow a book or for conversation. My office is always open.”

Hermione smiled at his kind words, but she recognized the subtle way of defusing her questions before she even asked. Maybe Harry was right after all, and Dumbledore didn’t want to talk to him for some reason.

“Thank you for everything, Professor. The books, the conversation, the food, and especially what you did about Professor Umbridge,” Hermione said, and then started to leave. When she was reaching the door, the Headmaster talked again.

“Miss Granger?”

“Yes, sir?” Hermione asked, turning around.

“Do you know any Muggle knitting patterns, Miss Granger? Dobby mentioned you knitted some socks and caps for him,” Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling, like a mischievous child. 

“Eh… I do, sir,” Hermione said confused.

“Wonderful! If you have one of those Muggle magazines that have them, please feel free to bring one for me. I will be grateful if you did,” Dumbledore said enthusiastically.

“Ah… Of course, sir,” Hermione said dumbfounded.

And after she left, Hermione shook her head, thinking that as brilliant and wise as Dumbledore was, he was still a very eccentric man.

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language, so if you notice any misspellings or mistakes, please let me know.


End file.
